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WEIRD  TALES 


WEIRD  TALES 


BY 

E.  T.  W.  HOFFMANN 


A TRANSLATION  FROM  THE  GERMAN 
BY 

J.  T.  BEALBY,  B.A. 

FORMERLY  SCHOLAR  OF  CORPUS  CHRISTI  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE 


q o'?  2.7 

NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 

1923 


7 

V- 

«'T  / t A £ - 


J 2.  0*  2 31 

"7  / I 

j • 6 r* 

Äc-vw^^''  j~|  £ 

CONTENTS 

v VOLUME  I 

k/  • .^ 

The  Cremona  Violin 

PAGE 

I ^ 

^he  Fermata 

32 

Signöf-Eoffliica 

59 

i^'^he  Sand-man  L . 

x68 

The  Entail 

216 

Arthur’s  Hall 

322 

VOLUME  II 

The  Doge  and  Dogess 

Master  Martin  the  Cooper 

• 

1 V * 

V 

68 

Mademoiselle  De  Scuderi 

149 

Gambler’s  Luck 

242-'"'' 

Marter  Johannes  Wacht 

280 

Will 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


OUNCILLOR  KRESPEL  was  one  of  the  stran- 
gestpoddest  men  I everlnet  with  in  my  life.  When 

I went  to  live  in  H for  a time  the  whole  town  was 

full  of  talk  about  him,  as  he  happened  to  be  just  then 
in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  very  craziest  of  his  schemes. 
Krespel  had  the  reputation  of  being  both  a clever, 
learned  lawyer  and  a skilful  diplomatist.  One  of  the 
reigning  princes  of  Germany — not,  however,  one  of  the 
most  powerful — had  appealed  to  him  for  assistance  in 
drawing  up  a memorial,  which  he  was  desirous  of  pre- 
senting at  the  Imperial  Court  with  the  view  of  further- 
ing his  legitimate  claims  upon  a certain  strip  of  terri- 
tory. The  project  was  crowned  with  the  happiest 
success  ; and  as  Krespel  had  once  complained  that  he 
could  never  find  a dwelling  sufficiently  comfortable  to 
suit  him,  the  prince,  to  reward  him  for  the  memorial, 
undertook  to  defray  the  cost  of  building  a house  which 
Krespel  might  erect  just  as  he  pleased.  Moreover,  the 
prince  was  willing  to  purchase  any  site  that  he  should 
fancy.  This  offer,  however,  the  Councillor  would  not 
accept  ; he  insisted  that  the  house  should  be  built  in 
his  garden,  situated  in  a very  beautiful  neighbourhood 
outside  the  town-walls.  So  he  botight  all  kinds  of  ma- 
terials and  had  them  carted  out.  Then  he  might  have 
been  seen  day  after  day,  attired  in  his  curious  garments 
(which  he  had  made  himself  according  to  certain  fixed 


2 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


rules  of  his  own),  slacking  the  lime,  riddling  the  sar 
packing  up  the  bricks  and  stones  in  regular  heaps,  a 
so  on.  All  this  he  did  without  once  consulting  an  ; 
chitect  or  thinking  about  a plan.  One  fine  day,  ho 
ever,  he  went  to  an  experienced  builder  of  the  to\ 
and  requested  him  to  be  in  his  garden  at  daybreak  t 
next  morning,  with  all  his  journeymen  and  apprentic 
and  a large  body  of  labourers,  &c.,  to  build  him  1 
house.  Naturally  the  builder  asked  for  the  architec 
plan,  and  was  not  a little  astonished  when  Krespel 
plied  that  none  was  needed,  and  that  things  would  tu 
out  all  right  in  the  end,  just  as  he  wanted  them.  N« 
morning,  when  the  builder  and  his  men  came  to  t 
place,  they  found  a trench  drawn  out  in  the  shape  of 
exact  square  ; and  Krespel  said,  “ Here’s  where  y 
must  lay  the  foundations  ; then  carry  up  the  walls  ur. 
I say  they  are  high  enough.”  “ Without  windows  a 
doors,  and  without  partition  walls  ? ” broke  in  t 
builder,  as  if  alarmed  at  Krespel’s  mad  folly.  “1 
what  I tell  you,  my  dear  sir,”  replied  the  Council 
quite  calmly  ; “ leave  the  rest  to  me  ; it  will  be 
right.”  It  was  only  the  promise  of  high  pay  that  coi 
induce  the  builder  to  proceed  with  the  ridiculous  bui 
ing  ; but  none  has  ever  been  erected  under  merr 
circumstances.  As  there  was  an  abundant  supply 
food  and  drink,  the  workmen  never  left  their  wor 
and  amidst  their  continuous  laughter  the  four  wa 
were  run  up  with  incredible  quickness,  until  one  d 
Krespel  cried,  “ Stop  ! ” Then  the  workmen,  layi 
down  trowel  and  hammer,  came  down  from  the  sc 
foldings  and  gathered  round  Krespel  in  a circle,  whi 
every  laughing  face  was  asking,  “Well,  and  wl 
now  ? ” “ Make  way  ! ” cried  Krespel  ; and  then  rt 

ning  to  one  end  of  the  garden,  he  strode  slowly  towai 
the  square  of  brick-work.  When  he  came  close  to  t 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


3 


wall  he  shook  his  head  in  a dissatisfied  manner,  ran 
to  the  other  end  of  the  garden,  again  strode  slowly 
towards  the  brick-work  square,  and  proceeded  to  act  as 
before.  These  tactics  he  pursued  several  times,  until 
at  length,  running  his  sharp  nose  hard  against  the  wall, 
he  cried,  “Come  here,  come  here,  men!  break  me  a 
door  in  here  ! Here’s  where  I want  a door  made  ! ” 
He  gave  the  exact  dimensions  in  feet  and  inches,  and 
they  did  as  he  bid  them.  Then  he  stepped  inside  the 
structure,  and  smiled  with  satisfaction  as  the  builder 
remarked  that  the  walls  were  just  the  height  of  a good 
two-storeyed  house.  Krespel  walked  thoughtfully 
backwards  and  forwards  across  the  space  within,  the 
bricklayers  behind  him  with  hammers  and  picks,  and 
wherever  he  cried,  “ Make  a window  here,  six  feet  high 
by  four  feet  broad  ! ” “ There  a little  window,  three 

feet  by  two  ! ” a hole  was  made  in  a trice. 

It  was  at  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  that  I came 
to  H ;Jand  it  was  highly  amusing  to  see  how  hun- 

dreds of  people  stood  round  about  the  garden  and 
raised  a loud  shout  whenever  the  stones  flew  out  and  a 
new  window  appeared  where  nobotly  had  for  a moment 
expected  it.  And  in  the  same  manner  Krespel  pro- 
ceeded with  the  buildings  and  fittings  of  the  rest  of  the 
house,  and  with  all  the  work  necessary  to  that  end  ; 
everything  had  to  be  done  on  the  spot  in  accordance 
with  the  instructions  which  the  Councillor  gave  from 
time  to  time.  However,  the  absurdity  of  the  whole 
business,  the  growing  conviction  that  things  would  in 
the  end  turn  out  better  thah  might  have  been  expected, 
but  above  all,  Krespel's  generosity — which  indeed  cost 
him  nothing — kept  them  all  in  good-humour.  Thus 
were  the  difficulties  overcome  which  necessarily  arose 
out  of  this  eccentric  way  of  building,  and  in  a short 
time  there  was  a completely  finished  house,  its  outside, 


4 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


indeed,  presenting  a most  extraordinary"  appearance, 
no  two  windows,  &c.,  being  alike,  but  on  the  other 
hand  the  interior  arrangements  suggested  a peculiar 
feeling  of  comfort.  All  who  entered  the  house  bore 
witness  to  the  truth  of  this  ; and  I too  experienced  it 
myself  when  I was  taken  in  by  Krespel  after  I had  be- 
come more  intimate  with  him.  For  hitherto  I had  not 
exchanged  a word  with  this  eccentric  man  ; his  build- 
ing had  occupied  him  so  much  that  he  had  not  even 

once  been  to  Professor  M ’s  to  dinner,  as  he  wras  in 

the  habit  of  doing  on  Tuesdays.  Indeed,  in  reply  to  a 
special  invitation,  he  sent  word  that  he  should  not  set 
foot  over  the  threshold  before  the  house-warming  of 
his  new  building  took  place.  All  his  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances, therefore,  confidently  looked  forward  to  a 
\ great  banquet  ; but  Krespel  invited  nobody  except  the 
1 masters,  journeymen,  apprentices,  and  labourers  who 
' had  built  the  house.  He  entertained  them  with  the  choic- 
est viands  : bricklayer’s  apprentices  devoured  partridge 
pies  regardless  of  consequences  ; young  joiners  polished 
off  roast  pheasants  with  the  greatest  success  ; whilst  hun- 
gry labourers  helped  themselves  for  once  to  the  choicest 
morsels  of  i ruffes  fricassees.  In  the  evening  their  wives 
and  daughters  came,  and  there  was  a great  ball.  After 
waltzing  a short  while  with  the  wives  of  the  masters, 
Krespel  sat  down  amongst  the  town-musicians,  took  a vio- 
lin in  his  hand,  and  directed  the  orchestra  until  daylight. J 

On  the  Tuesday  after  this  festival,  which  exhibited 
Councillor  Krespel  in  the  character  of  a friend  of  the 
people,  I at  length  saw  him  appear,  to  my  no  little 

joy,  at  Professor  M ’s.  Anything  more  strange  and 

fantastic  than  Krespel’s  behaviour  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble to  find.  He  was  so  stiff  and  awkward  in  his  move- 
ments, that  he  looked  every  moment  as  if  he  would 
run  up  against  something  or  do  some  damage.  But  he 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


5 


did  not  ; and  the  lady  of  the  house  seemed  to  be  well 
aware  that  he  would  not,  for  she  did  not  grow  a shade 
paler  when  he  rushed  with  heavy  steps  round  a table 
crowded  with  beautiful  cups,  or  when  he  manoeuvred 
near  a large  mirror  that  reached  down  to  the  floor,  or 
even  when  he  seized  a flower-pot  of  beautifully  painted 
porcelain  and  swung  it  round  in  the  air  as  if  desirous 
af  making  its  colours  play.  Moreover,  before  dinner 
ae  subjected  everything  in  the  Professor’s  room  to  a 
most  minute  examination  ; he  also  took  down  a pic- 
;ure  from  the  wall  and  hung  it  up  again,  standing  on 
cne  of  the  cushioned  chairs  to  do  so.  At  the  same 
:ime  he  talked  a good  deal  and  vehemently  ; at  one 
:ime  his  thoughts  kept  leaping,  as  it  were,  from  one 
subject  to  another  (this  was  most  conspicuous  during 
iinner)  ; at  another,  he  was  unable  to  have  done  with 
in  idea  ; seizing  upon  it  again  and  again,  he  gave  it 
ill  sorts  of  wonderful  twists  and  turns,  and  couldn’t 
ijet  back  into  the  ordinary  track  until  something  else 
took  hold  of  his  fancy.  Sometimes  his  voice  was 
rough  and  harsh  and  screeching,  and  sometimes  it  was 
low  and  drawling  and  singing  ; but  at  no  time  did  it 
harmonize  with  what  he  was  talking  about.  Music 
was  the  subject  of  conversation  ; the  praises  of  a new 
composer  were  being  sung,  when  Krespel,  smiling,  said 
in  his  low  singing  tones,  “ I wish  the  devil  with  his 
pitchfork  would  hurl  that  atrocious  garbler  of  music 
millions  of  fathoms  down  to  the  bottomless  pit  of 
hell  ! ” Then  he  burst  out  passionately  and  wildly, 
“ She  is  an  angel  of  heaven,  nothing  but  pure  God- 
given  music  ! — the  paragon  and  queen  of  song  ! ” — and 
tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  To  understand  this,  we  had  to 
go  back  to  a celebrated  artiste , who  had  been  the  sub- 
ject of  conversation  an  hour  before. 

Just  at  this  time  a roast  hare  was  on  the  table  ; I 


6 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


noticed  that  Krespel  carefully  removed  every  particle 
of  meat  from  the  bones  on  his  plate,  and  was  most 
particular  in  his  inquiries  after  the  hare’s  feet  ; these 
the  Professor’s  little  five-year-old  daughter  now  brought 
to  him  with  a very  pretty  smile.  Besides,  the  children 
had  cast  many  friendly  glances  towards  Krespel  during 
dinner  ; now  they  rose  and  drew  nearer  to  him,  but 
not  without  signs  of  timorous  awe.  What’s  the  mean- 
ing of  that  ? thought  I to  myself.  Dessert  was  brought 
in  ; then  the  Councillor  took  a little  box  from  his 
pocket,  in  which  he  had  a miniature  lathe  of  steel. 
This  he  immediately  screwed  fast  to  the  table,  and 
turning  the  bones  with  incredible  skill  and  rapidity,  he 
made  all  sorts  of  little  fancy  boxes  and  balls,  which  the 
children  received  with  cries  of  delight.  Just  as  we 
were  rising  from  table,  the  Professor’s  niece  asked, 
X“  And  what  is  our  Antonia  doing  ? ” Krespel’s  face 
was  like  that  of  one  who  has  bitten  of  a sour  orange 
and  wants  to  look  as  if  it  were  a sweet  one  ; but  this 
expression  soon  changed  into  the  likeness  of  a hideous 
mask,  whilst  he  laughed  behind  it  with  downright 
bitter,  fierce,  and  as  it  seemed  to  me,  satanic  scorn. 
•‘Our  Antonia?  our  dear  Antonia?”  he  asked  in  his 
drawling,  disagreeable  singing  way.  The  grofessqr 
hastened  to  intervene  ; in  the  reproving  glance  which 
he  gave  his  niece  I read  that  she  had  touched  a point 
likely  to  stir  up  unpleasant  memories  in  Krespel’s  heart. 
“ How  are  you  getting  on  with  your  violins  ? ” inter- 
posed the  Professor  in  a jovial  manner,  taking  the 
Councillor  by  both  hands.  Then  Krespel’s  counte- 
nance cleared  up,  and  with  a firm  voice  he  replied. 
“ Capitally,  Professor  ; you  recollect  my  telling  you  of 
the  lucky  chance  which  threw  that  splendid  Atnati  1 

1 The  Amati  were  a celebrated  family  of  violin-makers  of  the  six- 
teenth and  seventeenth  centuries,  belonging  to  Cremona  in  Italy. 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


7 


into  my  hands.  Well,  I’ve  only  cut  it  open  to-day — 
not  before  to-day.  I hope  Antonia  has  carefully  taken 
the  rest  of  it  to  pieces.”  “ Antonia  is  a good  child,” 
remarked  the  Professor.  “Yes,  indeed,  that  she  is,” 
cried  the  Councillor,  whisking  himself  round  ; then, 
seizing  his  hat  and  stick,  he  hastily  rushed  out  of  the 
room.  I saw  in  the  mirror  how  that  tears  were  stand- 
ing in  his  eyes.  ^ 

As  soon  as  the  Councillor  was  gone,  I at  once  urged 
the  Professor  to  explain  to  me  what  Krespel  had  to  do 
with  violins,  and  particularly  with  Antonia.  “Well,” 
replied  the  Professor,  “ not  only  is  the  Councillor  a 
remarkably  eccentric  fellow  altogether,  but  he  practises 
violin-making  in  his  own  crack-brained  way.”  “Violin- 
making!” I exclaimed,  perfectly  astonished.  “Yes,” 
continued  the  Professor,  “ according  to  the  judgment 
of  men  who  understand  the  thing,  Krespel  makes  the' 
very  best  violins  that  can  be  found  nowadays  ; formerly 
he  would  frequently  let  other  people  play  on  those  in 
which  he  had  been  especially  successful,  but  that’s  been 
all  over  and  done  with  now  for  a long  time.  As  soon 
as  he  has  finished  a violin  he  plays  on  it  himself  for 
one  or  two  hours,  with  very  remarkable  power  and 
with  the  most  exquisite  expression,  then  he  hangs  it  up 
beside  the  rest,  and  never  touches  it  again  or  suffers 
anybody  else  to  touch  it.  If  a violin  by  any  of  the 
eminent  old  masters  is  hunted  up  anywhere,  the  Coun- 
cillor buys  it  immediately,  no  matter  what  the  price 
put  upon  it.  But  he  plays  it  as  he  does  his  own  violins, 
only  once  ; then  he  takes  it  to  pieces  in  order  to  examine 
closely  its  inner  structure,  and  should  he  fancy  he  hasn’t 
found  exactly  what  he  sought  for,  he  in  a pet  throws 
the  pieces  into  a big  chest,  which  is  already  full  of  the 


They  form  the  connecting-link  between  the  Brescian  school  of  makers 
and  the  greatest  of  all  makers,  Straduarius  and  Guamerius. 


s 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


remains  of  broken  violins.”  “ But  who  and  what 
is  jVntonia  ? ” I inquired,  hastily  and  impetuously. 
“ Well,  now,  that,”  continued  the  Professor,  “ that  is 
a thing  which  might  very  well  make  me  conceive  an 
unconquerable  aversion  to  the  Councillor,  were  I not 
convinced  that  there  is  some  peculiar  secret  behind  it, 
for  he  is  such  a good-natured  fellow  at  bottom  as  to 
be  sometimes  guilty  of  weakness.  When  he  came  to 

H , several  years  ago,  he  led  the  life  of  an  ajichorite, 

along  with  an  old  housekeeper,  in Street.  Soon, 

by  his  oddities,  he  excited  the  curiosity  of  his  neigh- 
bours ; and  immediately  he  became  aware  of  this,  he 
sought  and  made  acquaintances.  Not  only  in  my 
house  but  everywhere  we  became  so  accustomed  to 
him  that  he  grew  to  be  indispensable.  In  spite  of  his 
rude  exterior,  even  the  children  liked  him,  without  ever 
proving  a nuisance  to  him  ; for  notwithstanding  all 
their  friendly  passages  together,  they  always  retained 
a certain  timorous  awe  of  him,  which  secured  him 
against  all  over-familiarity.  You  have  to-day  had  an 
example  of  the  way  in  which  he  wins  their  hearts  by  his 
ready  skill  in  various  things.  We  all  took  him  at  first 
for  a crusty  old  bachelor,  and  he  never  contradicted  us. 
After  he  had  been  living  here  some  time,  he  went  away, 
nobody  knew  where,  and  returned  at  the  end  of  some 
months.  The  evening  following  his  return  his  windows 
were  lit  up  to  an  unusual  extent  ! this  alone  was  suffi- 
cient to  arouse  his  neighbours’  attention,  and  they 
soon  heard  the  surpassingly  beautiful  voice  of  a female 
singing  to  the  accompaniment  of  a piano.  Then  the 
music  of  a violin  was  heard  chiming  in  and  entering 
upon  a keen  ardent  contest  with  the  voice.  They 
knew  at  once  that  the  player  was  the  Councillor.  I 
myself  mixed  in  the  large  crowd  which  had  gathered 
in  front  of  his  house  to  listen  to  this  extraordinary 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


9 


concert  ; and  I must  confess  that,  beside  this  voice  and 
the  peculiar,  deep,  soul-stirring  impression  which  the 
execution  made  upon  me,  the  singing  of  the  most  cele- 
brated artistes  whom  I had  ever  heard  seemed  to  me 
feeble  and  void  of  expression.  Until  then  I had  had 
no  conception  of  such  long-sustained  notes,  of  such 
nightingale  trills,  of  such  undulations  of  musical  sound, 
of  such  swelling  up  to  the  strength  of  organ-notes,  of 
such  dying  away  to  the  faintest  whisper.  There  was 
not  one  whom  the  sweet  witchery  did  not  enthral  ; 
and  when  the  singer  ceased,  nothing  but  soft  sighs 
broke  the  impressive  silence.  Somewhere  about  mid- 
night the  Councillor  was  heard  talking  violently,  and 
another  male  voice  seemed,  to  judge  from  the  tones, 
to  be  reproaching  him,  whilst  at  intervals  the  broken 
words  of  a sobbing  girl  could  be  detected.  The  Coun- 
cillor continued  to  shout  with  increasing  violence, 
until  he  fell  into  that  drawling,  singing  way  that  you 
know.  He  was  interrupted  by  a loud  scream  from  the 
girl,  and  then  all  was  as  still  as  death.  Suddenly  a 
loud  racket  was  heard  on  the  stairs  ; a young  man 
rushed  out  sobbing,  threw  himself  into  a post-chaise 
which  stood  below,  and  drove  rapidly  away.  The 
next  day  the  Councillor  was  very  cheerful,  and  nobody 
had  the  courage  to  question  him  about  the  events  of 
the  previous  night.  But  on  inquiring  of  the  house- 
keeper, we  gathered  that  the  Councillor  had  brought 
home  with  him  an  extraordinarily  pretty  young  lady 
whom  he  called  Antonia,  and  she  it  was  who  had 
sung  so  beautifully.  A young  man  also  had  come 
along  with  them  ; he  had  treated  Antonia  very  tenderly, 
and  must  evidently  have  been  her  betrothed.  But  he, 
since  the  Councillor  peremptorily  insisted  on  it,  had 
had  to  go  away  again  in  a hurry.  What  the  relations 
between  Antonia  and  the  Councillor  are  has  remained 


IO 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


until  now  a secret,  but  this  much  is  certain,  that  he 
tyrannises  over  the  poor  girl  in  the  most  hateful  fashion. 
He  watches  her  as  Doctor  Bartholo  watches  his  ward 
in  the  Barber  of  Seville ; she  hardly  dare  show  herself 
at  the  window  ; and  if,  yielding  now  and  again  to  her 
earnest  entreaties,  he  takes  her  into  society,  he  follows 
her  with  Argus’  eyes,  and  will  on  no  account  suffer  a 
musical  note  to  be  sounded,  far  less  let  Antonia  sing — 
indeed,  she  is  not  permitted  to  sing  in  his  own  house. 
Antonia’s  singing  on  that  memorable  night,  has,  there- 
fore, come  to  be  regarded  by  the  townspeople  in  the 
light  of  a tradition  of  some  marvellous  wonder  that 

1 suffices  to  stir  the  heart  and  the  fancy  ; and  even  those 
who  did  not  hear  it  often  exclaim,  whenever  any  other 
singer  attempts  to  display  her  powers  in  the  place, 
‘ What  sort  of  a -wretched  squeaking  do  you  call  that  ? 
Nobody  but  Antonia  knows  how  to  sing.’  ” 

X Having  a singular  weakness  for  such  like  fantastic  his- 
tories, I found  it  necessary,  as  may  easily  be  imagined, 
to  make  Antonia’s  acquaintance.  I had  myself  often 
enough  heard  the  popular  sayings  about  her  singing, 
but  had  never  imagined  that  that  exquisite  artiste  was 
living  in  the  place,  held  a captive  in  the  bonds  of  this 
eccentric  Krespel  like  the  victim  of  a tyrannous  sor- 
cerer. Naturally  enough  I heard  in  my  dreams  on  the 
following  night  Antonia’s  marvellous  voice,  and  as  she 
besought  me  in  the  most  touching  manner  in  a glorious 
adagio  movement  (very  ridiculously  it  seemed  to  me,  as 
if  I had  composed  it  myself)  to  save  her,  I soon  re- 
solved, like  a second  Astolpho,'  to  penetrate  into  Kres- 
pel’s  house,  as  if  into  another  Alcina’s  magic  castle, 

1 A reference  to  Ariosto’s  Orlando  Furioso.  Astolpho,  an  English 
cousin  of  Orlando,  was  a great  boaster,  but  generous,  courteous,  gay, 
and  remarkably  handsome  ; he  was  carried  to  Alcina’s  island  on  the 
back  of  a whale. 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


ii 


and  deliver  the  queen  of  song  from  her  ignominious 
fetters. 

It  all  came  about  in  a different  way  from  what  I had 
expected  ; I had  seen  the  Councillor  scarcely  more  than 
two  or  three  times,  and  eagerly  discussed  with  him  the 
best  method  of  constructing  violins,  when  he  invited  me 
to  call  and  see  him.  I did  so  ; and  he  showed  me  his 
treasures  of  violins.  There  were  fully  thirty  of  them 
hanging  up  in  a closet  ; one  amongst  them  bore  con- 
spicuously all  the  marks  of  great  antiquity  (a  carved  lion’s 
head,  &c.),  and,  hung  up  higher  than  the  rest  and  sur- 
mounted by  a crown  of  flowers,  it  seemed  to  exercise  a 
queenly  supremacy  over  them.  “ This  violin,”  said 
Krespel,  on  my  making  some  inquiry  relative  to  it,  “ this 
violin  is  a very  remarkable  and  curious  specimen  of  the 
work  of  some  unknown  master,  probably  of  Tartini’s  1 
age.  I am  perfectly  convinced  that  there  is  something 
especially  exceptional  in  its  inner  construction,  and  that, 
if  I took  it  to  pieces,  a secret  would  be  revealed  to  me 
which  I have  long  been  seeking  to  discover,  but — laugh 
at  me  if  you  like — this  senseless  thing  which  only  gives 
signs  of  life  and  sound  as  I make  it,  often  speaks  to  me 
in  a strange  way  of  itself.  The  first  time  I played  upon 
it  I somehow  fancied  that  I was  onlv  the  magnetiser 
who  has  the  power  of  moving  his  subject  to  reveal  of 
his  own  accord  in  words  the  visions  of  his  inner  nature. 
Don’t  go  away  with  the  belief  that  I am  such  a fool 
as  to  attach  even  the  slightest  importance  to  such  fan- 
tastic notions,  and  yet  it’s  certainly  strange  that  I could 

1 Giuseppe  Tartini,  born  in  1692,  died  in  1770  ; was  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  violinists  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  the  discoverer  (in 
1714)  of  “resultant  tones,”  or  “ Tartini’s  tones  ” as  they  are  frequently 
called.  Most  of  his  life  was  spent  at  Padua.  He  did  much  to  advance 
the  art  of  the  violinist,  both  by  his  compositions  for  that  instrument  as 
well  as  by  his  treatise  on  its  capabilities. 


12 


Th  E CK  EM  ON  A VIOLIN. 


never  prevail  upon  myself  to  cut  open  that  dumb  life 
less  thing  there.  I am  very  pleased  now  that  I hav< 
not  cut  it  open,  for  since  Antonia  has  been  with  me 
sometimes  play  to  her  upon  this  violin.  For  Antoni; 
is  fond  of  it — very  fond  of  it.”  As  the  Councillo 
uttered  these  words  with  visible  signs  of  emotion,  I fel 
encouraged  to  hazard  the  question,  “ Will  you  not  plat 
it  to  me,  Councillor.”  Krespel  made  a wry  face,  anc 
falling  into  his  drawling,  singing  way,  said,  “No,  mt 
good  sir  ! ” and  that  was  an  end  of  the  matter.  Ther 
I had  to  look  at  all  sorts  of  rare  curiosities,  the  greatei 
part  of  them  childish  trifles  ; at  last  thrusting  his  arn 
into  a chest,  he  brought  out  a folded  piece  of  paper 
which  he  pressed  into  my  hand,  adding  solemnly 
“You  are  a lover  of  art  ; take  this  present  as  a priceless 
memento,  which  you  must  value  at  all  times  above 
everything  else.”  Therewith  he  took  me  by  the  shoul- 
ders and  gently  pushed  me  towards  the  door,  embracing 
me  on  the  threshold.  That  is  to  say,  I was  in  a sym- 
bolical manner  virtually  kicked  out  of  doors.  Unfold- 
ing the  paper,  I found  a piece  of  a first  string  of  a violin 
about  an  eighth  of  an  inch  in  length,  with  the  words, 
“ A piece  of  the  treble  string  with  which  the  deceased 
Stamitz  1 strung  his  violin  for  the  last  concert  at  which 
he  ever  played.” 

This  summary  dismissal  at  mention  of  Antonia’s 
name  led  me  to  infer  that  I should  never  see  her  ; but 
I was  mistaken,  for  on  my  second  visit  to  the  Council- 
lor’s 1 found  her  in  his  room,  assisting  him  to  put  a 
violin  together.  At  first  sight  Antonia  did  not  make  a 
strong  impression  ; but  soon  I found  it  impossible  to 


1 This  was  the  name  of  a well-known  musical  family  from  Bohemia. 
Karl  Stamitz  is  the  one  here  possibly  meant,  since  he  died  about  eigh- 
teen or  twenty  years  previous  to  the  publication  of  this  tale. 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


13 


ear  myself  away  from  her  blue  eyes,  her  sweet  rosy 
ips,  her  uncommonly  graceful,  lovely  form.  She  was 
rery  pale  ; but  a shrewd  remark  or  a merry  sally  would 
sail  up  a winning  smile  on  her  face  and  suffuse  her 
:heeks  with  a deep  burning  flush,  which,  however,  soon 
aded  away  to  a faint  rosy  glow.  My  conversation 
,vith  her  was  quite  unconstrained,  and  yet  I saw  nothing 
vhateverof  the  Argus-like  watchings  on  Krespel’s  part 
.vhich  the  Professor  had  imputed  to  him  ; on  the  con- 
rary,  his  behaviour  moved  along  the  customary  lines, 
lay,  he  even  seemed  to  approve  of  my  conversation 
,vith  Antonia.  So  I often  stepped  in  to  see  the  Coun- 
cillor ; and  as  we  became  accustomed  to  each  other’s 
society,  a singular  feeling  of  homeliness,  taking  posses- 
sion of  our  little  circle  of  three,  filled  our  hearts  with 
nward  happiness.  I still  continued  to  derive  exquisite 
enjoyment  from  the  Councillor’s  strange  crotchets  and 
iddities ; but  it  was  of  course  Antonia’s  irresistible 
charms  alone  which  attracted  me,  and  led  me  to  put  up 
vith  a good  deal  which  I should  otherwise,  in  the  frame 
if  mind  in  which  I then  was,  have  impatiently 
shunned.  For  it  only  too  often  happened  that  in  the 
Councillor's  characteristic  extravagance  there  was  min- 
gled much  that  was  dull  and  tiresome  ; and  it  was  in  a 
special  degree  irritating  to  me  that,  as  often  as  I turned 
she  conversation  upon  music,  and  particularly  upon 
singing,  he  was  sure  to  interrupt  me,  with  that  sardonic 
smile  upon  his  face  and  those  repulsive  singing  tones 
if  his,  by  some  remark  of  a quite  opposite  tendency, 
irery  often  of  a commonplace  character.  From  the  great 
iistress  which  at  such  times  Antonia’s  glances  betrayed, 

1 perceived  that  he  only  did  it  to  deprive  me  of  a pre- 
sext  for  calling  upon  her  for  a song.  But  I didn’t  re- 
.inquish  my  design.  The  hindrances  which  the  Coun- 
sellor threw  in  my  way  only  strengthened  my  resolution 


14 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


to  overcome  them  ; I must  hear  Antonia  sing  if  I was 
not  to  pine  away  in  reveries  and  dim  aspirations  for 
want  of  hearing  her.  A 

One  evening  Krespel  was  in  an  uncommonly  good 
humour  ; he  had  been  taking  an  old  .Cremona  violin  to 
pieces,  and  had  discovered  that  the  sound-post  was 
fixed  half  a line  more  obliquely  than  usual — an  impor- 
tant discovery ! one  of  incalculable  advantage  in  the 
practical  work  of  making  violins  ! I succeeded  in  set- 
ting him  off  at  full  speed  on  his  hobby  of  the  true  art 
of  violin-playing.  Mention  of  the  way  in  which  the 
old  masters  picked  up  their  dexterity  in  execution  from 
really  great  singers  (which  was  what  Krespel  happened 
just  then  to  be  expatiating  upon),  naturally  paved  the 
-way  for  the  remark  that  now  the  practice  was  the  exact 
opposite  of  this,  the  vocal  score  erroneously  following 
the  affected  and  abrupt  transitions  and  rapid  scaling  of 
the  instrumentalists.  “What  is  more  nonsensical,”  I 
cried,  leaping  from  my  chair,  running  to  the  piano,  and 
opening  it  quickly,  “what  is  more  nonsensical  than 
such  an  execrable  style  as  this,  which,  far  from  being 
music,  is  much  more  like  the  noise  of  peas  rolling 
across  the  floor  ? ” At  the  same  time  I sang  several  of 
the  modern  fermatas , which  rush  up  and  down  and  hum 
like  a well-spun  peg-top,  striking  a few  villanous  chords 
by  way  of  accompaniment.  Krespel  laughed  outra- 
geously and  screamed,  “ Ha  ! ha  ! methinks  I hear  our 
German-Jtalians  or  our  Italian-Germans  struggling 
with  an  aria  from  Pucitta,1  or  Portogallo,2  or  some 


'Vincenzo  Pucitta  (1778-1861)  was  an  Italian  opera  composer,  whose 
music  “shows  great  facility,  but  no  invention.”  He  also  wrote  several 
songs. 

3 II  Portogallo  was  the  Italian  sobriquet  of  a Portuguese  musician 
named  Mark  Anthony  Sirnao  (1763-1829).  He  lived  alternately  in 
Italy  and  Portugal,  and  wrote  several  operas. 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


15 


other  Maestro  di  capella , or  rather  schiavo  d’ un  primo 
uomo 1 Now,  thought  I,  now’s  the  time  ; so  turning 
to  Antonia,  I remarked,  “ Antonia  knows  nothing  of 
such  singing  as  that,  I believe  ? ” At  the  same  time  I 
struck  up  one  of  old  Leonardo  Leo’s *  2 beautiful  soul- 
stirring songs.  Then  Antonia’s  cheeks  glowed  ; heav- 
enly radiance  sparkled  in  her  eyes,  which  grew  full  of 
reawakened  inspiration ; she  hastened  to  the  piano ; 
she  opened  her  lips  ; but  at  that  very  moment  Krespel 
pushed  her  away,  grasped  me  by  the  shoulders,  and 
with  a shriek  that  rose  up  to  a tenor  pitch,  cried,  “My 
son — my  son — my  son  ! ” And  then  he  immediately 
went  on,  singing  very  softly,  and  grasping  my  hand 
with  a bow  that  was  the  pink  of  politeness,  “ In  very 
truth,  my  esteemed  and  honourable  student-friend,  in 
very  truth  it  would  be  a violation  of  the  codes  of  social 
intercourse,  as  well  as  of  all  good  manners,  were  I to 
express  aloud  and  in  a stirring  way  my  wish  that  here, 
on  this  very  spot,  the  devil  from  hell  would  softly  break 
your  neck  with  his  burning  claws,  and  so  in  a sense 
make  short  work  of  you  ; but,  setting  that  aside,  you 
must  acknowledge,  my  dearest  friend,  that  it  is  rapidly 
growing  dark,  and  there  are  no  lamps  burning  to-night 
so  that,  even  though  I did  not  kick  you  downstairs  at 
once,  your  darling  limbs  might  still  run  a risk  of  suf- 
fering damage.  Go,  home  bv  all  means  : and  cherish  a 
kind  remembrance  of  your  faithful  friend,  if  it  should 
happen  that  you  never, — pray,  understand  me, — if  you 


! Literally,  “ The  slave  of  a pri?no  uomo,"  primo  uomo  being  the 
masculine  form  corresponding  to  prima  donna,  that  is,  a singer  of  hero’s 
parts  in  operatic  music.  At  one  time  also  female  parts  were  sung  and 
acted  by  men  or  boys. 

2 Leonardo  Leo,  the  chief  Neapolitan  representative  of  Italian  music 
in  the  first  part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  author  of  more  than 
forty  operas  and  nearly  one  hundred  compositions  for  the  Church. 


i6 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


should  never  see  him  in  his  own  house  again.”  There- 
with he  embraced  me,  and,  still  keeping  fast  hold  ol 
me,  turned  with  me  slowly  towards  the  door,  so  that  1 
could  not  get  another  single  look  at  Antonia.  O 
course  it  is  plain  enough  that  in  my  position  I couldn’' 
thrash  the  Councillor,  though  that  is  what  he  reall} 
deserved.  The  Professor  enjoyed  a good  laugh  at  m) 
expense,  and  assured  me  that  I had  ruined  for  ever  al 
hopes  of  retaining  the  Councillor’s  friendship.  Antoni; 
was  too  dear  to  me,  I might  say  too  holy,  for  me  to  gc 
and  play  the  part  of  the  languishing  lover  and  stanc 
gazing  up  at  her  window,  or  to  fill  the  role  of  the  love 
sick  adventurer.  Completely  upset,  I went  away  fron 

H ; but,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  the  brillian 

colours  of  the  picture  of  my  fancy  faded,  and  the  rec 
ollection  of  Antonia,  as  wTell  as  of  Antonia’s  singim 
(which  I had  never  heard),  often  fell  upon  my  hear 
like  a soft  faint  trembling  light,  comforting  me. 

A"  Two  years  afterwards  I received  an  appointment  h 

B , and  set  out  on  a journey  to  the  south  of  Ger 

many.  The  towers  of  H rose  before  me  in  the  re< 

vaporous  glow  of  the  evening  ; the  nearer  I came  th- 
more  was  I oppressed  by  an  indescribable  feeling  o 
the  most  agonising  distress  ; it  lay  upon  me  like  ; 
heavy  burden  ; I could  not  breathe  ; I was  obliged  t( 
get  out  of  my  carriage  into  the  open  air.  But  my  an 
guish  continued  to  increase  until  it  became  actual  phys 
ical  pain.  Soon  I seemed  to  hear  the  strains  of 
solemn  chorale  floating  in  the  air  ; the  sounds  con 
tinued  to  grow  more  distinct  ; I realised  the  fact  tha 
they  were  men’s  voices  chanting  a church  chorale 
“What’s  that  ? what’s  that  ?”  I cried,  a burning  sta 
darting  as  it  were  through  my  breast.  “ Don’t  yo 
see  ? ” replied  the  coachman,  who  was  driving  alon 
beside  me,  “ why,  don’t  you  see  ? they’re  buryin 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


17 


somebody  up  yonder  in  yon  churchyard.”  And  indeed 
we  were  near  the  churchyard  ; I saw  a circle  of  men 
clothed  in  black  standing  round  a grave,  which  was  on 
the  point  of  being  closed.  Tears  started  to  my  eyes  ; 
I somehow  fancied  they  were  burying  there  all  the  joy 
and  all  the  happiness  of  life.  Moving  on  rapidly  down 
the  hill,  I was  no  longer  able  to  see  into  the  church- 
yard ; the  chorale  came  to  an  end,  and  I perceived  not 
far  distant  from  the  gate  some  of  the  mourners  return- 
ing from  the  funeral.  The  Professor,  with  his  niece  on 
his  arm,  both  in  deep  mourning,  went  close  past  me 
without  noticing  me.  The  young  lady  had  her  hand- 
kerchief pressed  close  to  her  eyes,  and  was  weeping 
bitterly.  In  the  frame  of  mind  in  which  I then  was  I 
could  not  possibly  go  into  the  town,  so  I sent  on  my 
servant  with  the  carriage  to  the  hotel  where  I usually 
out  up,  whilst  I took  a turn  in  the  familiar  neighbour- 
rood,  to  get  rid  of  a mood  that  was  possibly  only  due 
.0  physical  causes,  such  as  heating  on  the  journey,  &c. 
3n  arriving  at  a well-known  avenue,  which  leads  to  a 
fleasure  resort,  I came  upon  a most  extraordinary 
pectacle.  Councillor  Krespel  was  being  conducted  by 
wo  mourners,  from  whom  he  appeared  to  be  endeav- 
oring to  make  his  escape  by  all  sorts  of  strange  twists 
nd  turns.  As  usual,  he  was  dressed  in  his  own  curious 
[Qine-made  grey  coat  ; but  from  his  little  cocked-hat, 
/duch  he  wore  perched  over  one  ear  in  military  fashion, 
long  narrow  ribbon  of  black  crape  fluttered  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  the  wind.  Around  his  waist  he 
ad  buckled  a black  sword-belt  ; but  instead  of  a sword 
e had  stuck  a long  fiddle-bow  into  it.  A creepy 
rudder  ran  through  my  limbs  : “ He’s  insane,”  thought 
as  I slowly  followed  them.  The  Councillor’s  com- 
anions  led  him  as  far  as  his  house,  where  he  embraced 
lem,  laughing  loudly.  They  left  him  ; and  then  his 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


glance  fell  upon  me,  for  I now  stood  near  him.  He 
stared  at  me  fixedly  for  some  time  ; then  he  cried  in  a 
hollow  voice,  “Welcome,  my  student-friend!  you  also 
understand  it ! ” Therewith  he  took  me  by  the  arm 
and  pulled  me  into  the  house,  up  the  steps,  into  the 
room  where  the  violins  hung.  They  were  all  draped 
in  black  crape  ; the  violin  of  the  old  master  was  miss- 
ing ; in  its  place  was  a cypress  wreath.  I knew  what 
had  happened.  “Antonia!  Antonia!”  I cried  in  in- 
consolable grief.  The  Councillor,  with  his  arms  crossed 
on  his  breast,  stood  beside  me,  as  if  turned  into  stone. 
I pointed  to  the  cypress  wreath.  “When  she  died,” 
said  he  in  a very  hoarse  solemn  voice,  “when  she  died, 
v the  soundpost  of  that  violin  broke  into  pieces  with  a 
ringing  crack,  and  the  sound-board  was  split  from  end 
to  end.  The  faithful  instrument  could  only  live  w:tv 
ner  and  in  her  ; it  lies  beside  her  in  the  coffin,  it  has 
been  buried  with  her.”  Deeply  agitated,  I sank  down 
upon  a chair,  whilst  the  Councillor  began  to  sing  a gay 
song  in  a husky  voice  ; it  wasJxulv  horrible  to  see  him 
hopping  about  on  one  foot,  and  the  crape  strings  (he 
still  had  his  hat  on)  flying  about  the  room  and  up  to 
the  violins  hanging  on  the  walls.  Indeed,  I could  not 
repress  a loud  cry  that  rose  to  my  lips  when,  on  the 
Councillor  making  an  abrupt  turn,  the  crape  came  all 
over  me  ; I fancied  he  wanted  to  envelop  me  in  it  and 
drag  me  down  into  the  horrible  dark  depths  of  insanity. 
Suddenly  he  stood  still  and  addressed  me  in  his  singing 
way,  “ My  son  ! my  son  ! why  do  you  call  out  ? Have 
you  espied  the  angel  of  death  ? That  always  precedes 
the  ceremony.”  Stepping  into  the  middle  of  the 
room,  he  took  the  violin-bow  out  of  his  sword-belt 
and,  holding  it  over  his  head  with  both  hands,  broke 
it  into  a thousand  pieces.  Then,  with  a loud  laugh,  he 
cried,  “Now  you  imagine  my  sentence  is  pronounced, 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


19 


don’t  you,  my  son  ? but  it’s  nothing  of  the  kind — not 
at  all  ! not  at  all  ! Now  I’m  free — free — free — hur- 
rah ! I’m  free  ! Now  I shall  make  no  more  violins— 
no  more  violins — Hurrah  ! no  more  violins  ! ” This 
he  sang  to  a horrible  mirthful  tune,  again  spinning 
round  on  one  foot.  Perfectly  aghast,  I was  making 
the  best  of  my  way  to  the  door,  when  he  held  me  fast, 
saying  quite  calmly,  “ Stay,  my  student  friend,  pray 
don't  think  from  this  outbreak  of  grief,  which  is  tor- 
turing me  as  if  with  the  agonies  of  death,  that  I am 
insane  ; I only  do  it  because  a short  time  ago  I made 
myself  a dressing-gown  in  which  I wanted  to  look  like 
Fate  or  like  God ! ” The  Councillor  then  went  on  with 
a medley  of  silly  and  awful  rubbish,  until  he  fell  down 
utterly  exhausted  ; I called  up  the  old  housekeeper, 
and  was  very  pleased  to  find  myself  in  the  open  air 
again.  ><r 

I never  doubted  for  a moment  that  Krespel  had  be- 
come insane  ; the  Professor,  however,  asserted  the  con- 
trary. “ There  are  men,”  he  remarked,  “ from  whom 
nature  or  a special  destiny  has  taken  away  the  cover 
behind  which  the  mad  folly  of  the  rest  of  us  runs  its 
course  unobserved.  They  are  like  thin-skinned  insects, 
which,  as  we  watch  the  restless  play  of  their  muscles, 
seem  to  be  misshapen,  while  nevertheless  everything 
soon  comes  back  into  its  proper  form  again.  All  that 
with  us  remains  thought,  passes  over  with  Krespel  into 
action.  That  bitter  scorn  which  the  spirit  that  is 
wrapped  up  in  the  doings  and  dealings  of  the  earth 
often  has  at  hand,  Krespel  gives  vent  to  in  outrageous 
gestures  and  agile  caprioles.  But  these  are  his  light- 
ning conductor.  What  comes  up  out  of  the  earth  he 
gives  again  to  the  earth,  but  what  is  divine,  that  he 
keeps  ; and  so  I believe  that  his  inner  consciousness,  in 
spite  of  the  apparent  madness  which  springs  from  it  to 


20 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


the  surface,  is  as  right  as  a trivet.  To  be  sure,  Antonia’s 
sudden  death  grieves  him  sore,  but  I warrant  that  to- 
morrow will  see  him  going  along  in  his  old  jog-trot  way 
as  usual.”  And  the  Professor’s  prediction  was  almost 
literally  filled.  Next  day  the  Councillor  appeared  to 
be  just  as  he  formerly  was,  only  he  averred  that  he 
would  never  make  another  violin,  nor  yet  ever  play  on 
another.  And,  as  I learned  later,  he  kept  his  word. 

Hints  which  the  Professor  let  fall  confirmed  my  own 
private  conviction  that  the  so  carefully  guarded  secret 
of  the  Councillor’s  relations  to  Antonia,  nay,  that  even 
her  death,  was  a crime  which  must  weigh  heavily  upon 
him,  a crime  that  could  not  be  atoned  for.  I deter- 
mined that  I would  not  leave  H without  taxing  him 

I with  the  offence  which  I conceived  him  to  be  guilty  of ; 

I I determined  to  shake  his  heart  down  to  its  very  roots, 
'and  so  compel  him  to  make  open  confession  of  the 
terrible  deed.  The  more  I reflected  upon  the  matter 
the  clearer  it  grew  in  my  own  mind  that  Krespel  must 
be  a villain,  and  in  the  same  proportion  did  my  in- 
tended reproach,  which  assumed  of  itself  the  form  of  a 
real  rhetorical  masterpiece,  wax  more  fiery  and  more 
impressive.  Thus  equipped  and  mightily  incensed,  I 
hurried  to  his  house.  I found  him  with  a calm  smiling 
countenance  making  playthings.  “ How  can  peace,” 
I burst  out,  “ how  can  peace  find  lodgment  even  for  a 
single  moment  in  your  breast,  so  long  as  the  memory  ol 
your  horrible  deed  preys  like  a serpent  upon  you  ? ” He 
gazed  at  me  in  amazement,  and  laid  his  chisel  aside 
“What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  sir?”  he  asked  ; “pray 
take  a seat.”  But  my  indignation  chafing  me  mort 
and  more,  I went  on  to  accuse  him  directly  of  having 

\ murdered  Antonia,  and  to  threaten  him  with  the  ven 
^geance  of  the  Eternal. 

Further,  as  a newly  full-fledged  lawyer,  full  of  m; 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


21 


profession,  I went  so  far  as  to  give  him  to  understand 
that  I would  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  get  a clue  to 
the  business,  and  so  deliver  him  here  in  this  world  into 
the  hands  of  an  earthly  judge.  I must  confess  that  I 
was  considerably  disconcerted  when,  at  the  conclusion 
of  my  violent  and  pompous  harangue,  the  Councillor, 
without  answering  so  much  as  a single  word,  calmly 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  me  as  though  expecting  me  to  go 
on  again.  And  this  I did  indeed  attempt  to  do,  but  it 
sounded  so  ill-founded  and  so  stupid  as  well  that  I soon 
grew  silent  again.  Krespel  gloated  over  my  embar- 
rassment, whilst  a malicious  ironical  smile  flitted  across 
his  face.  Then  he  grew  very  grave,  and  addressed  me 
in  solemn  tones.  “Young  man,  no  doubt  you  think 
I am  foolish,  insane  ; that  I can  pardon  you,  since  we 
are  both  confined  in  the  same  madhouse  ; and  you 
only  blame  me  for  deluding  myself  with  the  idea  that 
I am  God  the  Father  because  you  imagine  yourself  to 
be  God  the  Son.  But  how  do  you  dare  desire  to  insin- 
uate yourself  into  the  secrets  and  lay  bare  the  hidden 
motives  of  a life  that  is  strange  to  you  and  that  tnust 
continue  so  ? She  has  gone  and  the  mystery  is  solved.” 
He  ceased  speaking,  rose,  and  traversed  the  room  back- 
wards and  forwards  several  times.  I ventured  to  ask 
for  an  explanation  ; he  fixed  his  eves  upon  me,  grasped 
me  by  the  hand,  and  led  me  to  the  window,  which  he 
threw  wide  open.  Propping  himself  upon  his  arms, 
he  leaned  out,  and,  looking  down  into  the  garden,  told 
me  the  history  of  his  life.  When  he  finished  I left  him, 
touched  and  ashamed. 

"yC. 

In  a few  words,  his  relations  with  Antonia  rose  in 
the  following  way.  Twenty  years  before,  the  Councillor 
had  been  led  into  Italy  by  his  favourite  engrossing  pas- 
sion of  hunting  up  and  buying  the  best  violins  of  the 
old  masters.  At  that  time  he  had  not  yet  begun  to 


22 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


make  them  himself,  and  so  of  course  he  had  not  begun 
to  take  to  pieces  those  which  he  bought.  In  Venice 

he  heard  the  celebrated  singer  Angela i,  who  at 

that  time  was  playing  with  splendid  success  as  prima 
donna  at  St.  Benedict’s  Theatre.  His  enthusiasm  was 
awakened,  not  only  in  her  art — which  Signora  Angela 
had  indeed  brought  to  a high  pitch  of  perfection — but 
in  her  angelic  beauty  as  well.  He  sought  her  acquaint- 
ance ; and  in  spite  of  all  his  rugged  manners  he  suc- 
ceeded in  winning  her  heart,  principally  through  his 
bold  and  yet  at  the  same  time  masterly  violin-playing. 
Close  intimacy  led  in  a few  weeks  to  marriage,  which, 
however,  was  kept  a secret,  because  Angela  was  unwill- 
ing to  sever  her  connection  with  tTie  theatre,  neither 
did  she  wish  to  part  with  her  professional  name,  that 
by  which  she  was  celebrated,  nor  to  add  to  it  the  ca- 
cophonous “Krespel.”  With  the  most  extravagant 
irony  he  described  to  me  what  a strange  life  of  worry 
and  torture  Angela  led  him  as  soon  as  she  became  his 
wife.  Krespel  was  of  opinion  that  more  capriciousness 
and  waywardness  were  concentrated  in  Angela's  little 
person  than  in  all  the  rest  of  the  prima  donnas  in  the 
world  put  together.  If  he  now  and  again  presumed  to 
stand  up  in  his  own  defence,  she  let  loose  a whole  army 
of  abbots,  musical  composers,  and  students  upon  him, 
who,  ignorant  of  his  true  connection  with  Angela, 
soundly  rated  him  as  a most  intolerable,  ungallant 
lover  for  not  submitting  to  all  the  Signora’s  caprices. 
It  was  just  after  one  of  these  stormy  scenes  that  Kres- 
pel fled  to  Angela’s  country  seat  to  try  and  forget  in 
playing  fantasias  on  his  Cremona  violin  the  annoyances 
of  the  day.  But  he  had  not  been  there  long  before  the 
Signora,  who  had  followed  hard  after  him,  stepped  into 
the  room.  She  was  in  an  affectionate  humour  ; she 
embraced  her  husband,  overwhelmed  him  with  sweet 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


23 


and  languishing  glances,  and  rested  her  pretty  head  on 
his'  shoulder.  But  Krespel,  carried  away  into  the 
world  of  music,  continued  to  play  on  until  the  walls 
echoed  again  ; thus  he  chanced  to  touch  the  Signora 
somewhat  ungently  with  his  arm  and  the  fiddle-bow. 
She  leapt  back  full  of  fury,  shrieking  that  he  was  a 
“ German  brute,”  snatched  the  violin  from  his  hands, 
and  dashed  it  on  the  marble  table  into  a thousand 
pieces.  Krespel  stood  like  a statue  of  stone  before 
her  ; but  then,  as  if  awakening  out  of  a dream,  he 
seized  her  with  the  strength  of  a giant  and  threw  her 
out  of  the  window  of  her  own  house,  and,  without 
troubling  himself  about  anything  more,  fled  back  to 
Venice — to  Germany.  It  was  not,  however,  until  some 
time  had  elapsbd  that  he  had  a clear  recollection  of 
what  he  had  done  ; although  he  knew  that  the  window 
was  scarcely  five  feet  from  the  ground,  and  although 
he  was  fully  cognisant  of  the  necessity,  under  the 
above-mentioned  circumstances,  of  throwing  the  Sig- 
nora out  of  the  window,  he  yet  felt  troubled  by  a sense 
of  painful  uneasiness,  and  the  more  so  since  she  had  1 
imparted  to  him  in  no  ambiguous  terms  an  interesting 
secret  as  to  her  condition.  He  hardly  dared  to  make 
inquiries  ; and  he  was  not  a little  surprised  about  eight 
months  afterwards  at  receiving  a tender  letter  from  his 
beloved  wife,  in  which  she  made  not  the  slightest  allu- 
sion to  what  had  taken  place  in  her  country  house,  only 
adding  to  the  intelligence  that  she  had  been  safely  de- 
livered of  a sweet  little  daughter  the  heartfelt  prayer 
that  her  dear  husband  and  now  a happy  father  would 
come  at  once  to  Venice.  That  however  Krespel  did 
not  do  ; rather  he  appealed  to  a confidential  friend  for 
a more  circumstantial  account  of  the  details,  and 
learned  that  the  Signora  had  alighted  upon  the  soft 
grass  as  lightly  as  a bird,  and  that  the  sole  consequences 


24 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


of  the  fall  or  shock  had  been  psychic.  That  is  to  say, 
after  Krespel’s  heroic  deed  she  had  become  completely 
altered  ; she  never  showed  a trace  of  caprice,  of  her 
former  freaks,  or  of  her  teasing  habits  ; and  the  com- 
poser who  wrote  for  the  next  carnival  was  the  happiest 
fellow  under  the  sun,  since  the  Signora  was  willing  to 
sing  his  music  without  the  scores  and  hundreds  of 
changes  which  she  at  other  times  had  insisted  upon. 
“ To  be  sure,”  added  his  friend,  “ there  was  every  rea- 
son for  preserving  the  secret  of  Angela’s  cure,  else 
every  day  would  see  lady  singers  flying  through  win- 
dows.” ^The  Councillor  was  not  a little  excited  at  this 
news  ; he  engaged  horses  ; he  took  his  seat  in  the  car- 
riage. “ Stop  ! ” he  cried  suddenly.  “ Why,  there’s 
not  a shadow  of  doubt,”  he  murmured  to  himself,  “ that 
as  soon  as  Angela  sets  eyes  upon  me  again  the  evil 
spirit  will  recover  his  power  and  once  more  take  pos- 
session of  her.  And  since  I have  already  thrown  her 
out  of  the  window,  what  could  I do  if  a similar  case 
were  to  occur  again  ? What  would  there  be  left  for 
me  to  do  ?”  He  got  out  of  the  carriage,  and  wrote  an 
affectionate  letter  to  his  wife,  making  graceful  allusion 
to  her  tenderness  in  especially  dwelling  upon  the  fact 
that  his  tiny  daughter  had  like  him  a little  mole  behind 
the  ear,  and — remained  in  Germany.  Now  ensued  an 
active  correspondence  between  them.  Assurances  of 
unchanged  affection — invitations — laments  over  the 
absence  of  the  beloved  one — thwarted  wishes — hopes, 
&c. — flew  backwards  and  forwards  from  Venice  to 

H , from  H to  Venice.  At  length  Angela 

came  to  Germany,  and,  as  is  well  known,  sang  with 
brilliant  success  as  prima  donna  at  the  great  theatre  in 

F . Despite  the  fact  that  she  was  no  longer  young, 

she  won  all  hearts  by  the  irresistible  charm  of  her  won- 
derfully splendid  singing.  At  that  time  she  had  not 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


25 


lost  her  voice  in  the  least  degree.  Meanwhile,  Antonia 
had  been  growing  up  ; and  her  mother  never  tired  of 
writing  to  tell  her  father  howT  that  a singer  of  the  first 
rank  was  developing  in  her.  Krespel's  friends  in 

F also  confirmed  this  intelligence,  and  urged  him 

to  come  for  once  to  F to  see  and  admire  this  un- 

common sight  of  two  such  glorious  singers.  They  had 
not  the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  close  relations  in 
which  Krespel  stood  to  the  pair.  Willingly  would  he 
have  seen  with  his  own  eyes  the  daughter  who  occu- 
pied so  large  a place  in  his  heart,  and  who  moreover 
often  appeared  to  him  in  his  dreams  ; but  as  often  as 
he  thought  upon  his  wife  he  felt  very  uncomfortable^ 
and  so  he  remained  at  home  amongst  his  broken  violins. 

There  was  a certain  promising  young  composer, 
B— — of  F , who  was  found  to  have  suddenly  dis- 

appeared, nobody  knew  where.  This  young  man  fell 
so  deeply  in  love  with  Antonia  that,  as  she  returned 
his  love,  he  earnestly  besought  her  mother  to  consent 
to  an  immediate  union,  sanctified  as  it  would  further  be 
by  art.  Angela  had  nothing  to  urge  against  his  suit ; 
and  the  Councillor  the  more  readily  gave  his  consent 
that  the  young  composer’s  productions  had  found 
favour  before  his  rigorous  critical  judgment.  Krespel 
was  expecting  to  hear  of  the  consummation  of  the  mar- 
riage, when  he  received  instead  a black-sealed  envelope 

addressed  in  a strange  hand.  Doctor  R conveyed 

to  the  Councillor  the  sad  intelligence  that  Angela  had 
fallen  seriously  ill  in  consequence  of  a cold  caught  at 
the  theatre,  and  that  during  the  night  immediately  pre- 
ceding what  was  to  have  been  Antonia’s  wedding-day, 
she  had  died.  To  him,  the  Doctor,  Angela  had  dis- 
closed the  fact  that  she  uras  Krespel’s  wife,  and  that 
Antonia  was  his  daughter  ; he,  Krespel,  had  better 
hasten  therefore  to  take  charge  of  the  orphan.  Not- 


2Ö 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


withstanding  that  the  Councillor  was  a good  deal  upset 
by  this  news  of  Angela’s  death,  he  soon  began  to  feel 
that  an  antipathetic,  disturbing  influence  had  departed 
out  of  his  life,  and  that  now  for  the  first  time  he  could 
begin  to  breathe  freely.  The  very  same  day  he  set  out 

for  F . You  could  not  credit  how  heartrending  was 

the  Councillor’s  description  of  the  moment  when  he 
first  saw  Antonia.  Even  in  the  fantastic  oddities  of  his 
expression  there  was  such  a marvellous  power  of  de- 
scription that  I am  unable  to  give  even  so  much  as  a 
faint  indication  of  it.  Antonia  inherited  all  her  mother's 
amiability  and  all  her  mother’s  charms,  but  not  the  re- 
pellent reverse  of  the  medal.  There  was  no  chronic 
moral  ulcer,  which  might  break  out  from  time  to  time. 
Antonia's  betrothed  put  in  an  appearance,  whilst  Anto- 
nia herself,  fathoming  with  happy  instinct  the  deeper- 
lying  character  of  her  wonderful  father,  sang  one  of  old 
Padre  Martini’s  1 motets,  which,  she  knew,  Krespel  in 
the  heyday  of  his  courtship  had  never  grown  tired  of 
hearing  her  mother  sing.  The  tears  ran  in  streams 
down  Krespel’s  cheeks ; even  Angela  he  had  never 
heard  sing  like  that.  Antonia’s  voice  was  of  a very  re- 
markable and  altogether  peculiar  timbre,  at  one  time 
it  was  like  the  sighing  of  an  zBolian  harp,  at  another 
like  the  warbled  gush  of  the  nightingale.  It  seemed  as 
if  there  was  not  room  for  such  notes  in  the  human 
breast.  Antonia,  blushing  with  joy  and  happiness,  sang 
on  and  on — all  her  most  beautiful  songs,  B playing 


1 Giambattista  Martini,  more  commonly  called  Padre  Martini,  of 
Bologna,  formed  an  influential  school  of  music  there  in  the  latter  half 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  He  wrote  vocal  and  instrumental  pieces 
both  for  the  church  and  for  the  theatre.  He  was  also  a learned  his- 
torian of  music.  He  has  the  merit  of  having  discerned  and  encouraged 
the  genius  of  Mozart  when,  a boy  of  fourteen,  he  visited  Bologna  in 
1770. 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


27 


between  whiles  as  only  enthusiasm  that  is  intoxicated 
with  delight  can  play.  Krespel  was  at  first  transported 
with  rapture,  then  he  grew  thoughtful — still — absorbed 
in  reflection.  At  length  he  leapt  to  his  feet,  pressed 
Antonia  to  his  heart,  and  begged  her  in  a low  husky 
voice,  “ Sing  no  more  if  you  love  me — my  heart  is 
bursting — I fear — I fear — don’t  sing  again.” 

“ No  ! ” remarked  the  Councillor  next  day  to  Doctor 

R , “ when,  as  she  sang,  her  blushes  gathered  into 

two  dark  red  spots  on  her  pale  cheeks,  I knew  it  had 
nothing  to  do  with  your  nonsensical  family  likenesses, 
I knew  it  was  what  I dreaded.”  The  Doctor,  whose 
countenance  had  shown  signs  of  deep  distress  from  the 
very  beginning  of  the  conversation,  replied,  “ Whether 
it  arises  from  a too  early  taxing  of  her  powers  of  song, 
or  whether  the  fault  is  Nature’s — enough,  Antonia 
labours  under  an  organic  failure  in  the  chest,  while  it 
is  from  it  too  that  her  voice  derives  its  wonderful  power 
and  its  singular  timbre,  which  I might  almost  say  tran- 
scend the  limits  of  human  capabilities  of  song.  But  it 
bears  the  announcement  of  her  early  death  ; for,  if  she 
continues  to  sing,  I wouldn’t  give  her  at  the  most  more 
than  six  months  longer  to  live.”  Krespel’s  heart  was 
lacerated  as  if  by  the  stabs  of  hundreds  of  stinging 
knives.  It  was  as  though  his  life  had  been  for  the  first 
time  overshadowed  by  a beautiful  tree  full  of  the  most 
magnificent  blossoms,  and  now  it  was  to  be  sawn  to 
pieces  at  the  roots,  so  that  it  could  not  grow  green  and 
blossom  any  more.  His  resolution  was  taken.  He  told 
Antonia  all ; he  put  the  alternatives  before  her — whether 
she  would  follow  her  betrothed  and  yield  to  his  and  the 
world’s  seductions,  but  with  the  certainty  of  dying  early, 
or  whether  she  would  spread  round  her  father  in  his  old 
days  that  joy  and  peace  which  had  hitherto  been  un- 
known to  him,  and  so  secure  a long  life.  She  tnrevi 


28 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


herself  sobbing  into  his  arms,  and  he,  knowing  the 
heartrending  trial  that  was  before  her,  did  not  press  for 
a more  explicit  declaration.  He  talked  the  matter  over 
with  her  betrothed  ; but,  notwithstanding  that  the  lat- 
ter averred  that  no  note  should  ever  cross  Antonia’s 
lips,  the  Councillor  was  only  too  well  awTare  that  even 

B could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  hearing  her 

sing,  at  any  rate  arias  of  his  own  composition.  And  the 
world,  the  musical  public,  even  though  acquainted  with 
the  nature  of  the  singer’s  affliction,  would  certainly  not 
relinquish  its  claims  to  hear  her,  for  in  cases  where 
leasure  is  concerned  people  of  this  class  are  very  self- 
ish and  cruel.  The  Councillor  disappeared  from  F 


along  with  Antonia,  and  came  to  H- 


B- 


was  in 

despair  when  he  learnt  that  they  had  gone.  He  set  out 

on  their  track,  overtook  them,  and  arrived  at  H at 

the  same  time  that  they  did.  “ Let  me  see  him  only 
once,  and  then  die  ! ” entreated  Antonia.  “ Die  ! die!  ” 
cried  Krespel,  wild  with  anger,  an  icy  shudder  running 
through  him.  His  daughter,  the  only  creature  in  the 
wide  world  who  had  awakened  in  him  the  springs  of 
unknown  joy,  who  alone  had  reconciled  him  to  life,  tore 
herself  away  from  his  heart,  and  he — he  suffered  the 

terrible  trial  to  take  place.  B sat  down  to  the 

piano  ; Antonia  sang  ; Krespel  fiddled  away  merrily, 
/until  the  two  red  spots  showed  themselves  on  Antonia’s 
cheeks.  Then  he  bade  her  stop  ; and  as  B was  tak- 

ing leave  of  his  betrothed,  she  suddenly  fell  to  the  floor 
with  a loud  scream.  “ I thought,”  continued  Krespel 
in  his  narration,  “ I thought  that  she  was,  as  I had  an- 
ticipated, really  dead ; but  as  I had  prepared  myself  for 
the  worst,  my  calmness  did  not  leave  me,  nor  my  self- 

command  desert  me.  I grasped  B , who  stood  like 

a silly  sheep  in  his  dismay,  by  the  shoulders,  and  said 
(here  the  Councillor  fell  into  his  singing  tone),  ‘Now 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


29 


that  you,  my  estimable  pianoforte-player,  have,  as  you 
wished  and  desired,  really  murdered  your  betrothed, 
you  may  quietly  take  your  departure  ; at  least  have  the 
goodness  to  make  yourself  scarce  before  I run  my  bright 
hanger  through  your  heart.  My  daughter,  who,  as 
you  see,  is  rather  pale,  could  very  well  do  with  some 
colour  from  your  precious  blood.  Make  haste  and  run, 
for  I might  also  hurl  a nimble  knife  or  two  after  you.’ 
I must,  I suppose,  have  looked  rather  formidable  as  I 
uttered  these  words,  for,  with  a cry  of  the  greatest  terror, 

B tore  himself  loose  from  my  grasp,  rushed  out  of 

the  room,  and  down  the  steps.”  Directly  after  B 

was  gone,  when  the  Councillor  tried  to  lift  up  his 
daughter,  who  lay  unconscious  on  the  floor,  she  opened 
her  eyes  with  a deep  sigh,  but  soon  closed  them  again 
as  if  about  to  die.  Then  Krespel’s  grief  found  vent 
aloud,  and  would  not  be  comforted.  The  Doctor,  whom 
the  old  housekeeper  had  called  in,  pronounced  Anto- 
nia’s case  a somewhat  serious  but  by  no  means  danger- 
ous attack  ; and  she  did  indeed  recover  more  quickly 
than  her  father  had  dared  to  hope.  She  now  clung  to 
him  with  the  most  confiding  childlike  affection  ; she 
entered  into  his  favourite  hobbies— into  his  mad  schemes 
and  whims.  She  helped  him  take  old  violins  to  pieces 
and  glue  new  ones  together.  “ I won’t  sing  again  any 
more,  but  live  for  you,”  she  often  said,  sweetly  smiling 
upon  him,  after  she  had  been  asked  to  sing  and  had  re- 
fused. Such  appeals  however  the  Councillor  was  anx- 
ious to  spare  her  as  much  as  possible  ; therefore  it  was 
that  he  was  unwilling  to  take  her  into  society,  and  so- 
licitf  usly  shunned  all  music.  He  well  understood  how 
pai  lful  it  must  be  for  her  to  forego  altogether  the  ex- 
ercise of  that  art  which  she  had  brought  to  such  a pitch 
of  perfection.  When  the  Councillor  bought  the  won- 
derful violin  that  he  had  buried  with  Antonia,  and  was 


3° 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


about  to  take  it  to  pieces,  she  met  him  with  such  sad- 
ness in  her  face  and  softly  breathed  the  petition, 
“What!  this  as  well?”  By  some  power,  which  he 
could  not  explain,  he  felt  impelled  to  leave  this  par- 
ticular instrument  unbroken,  and  to  play  upon  it. 
Scarcely  had  he  drawn  the  first  fewT  notes  from  it  than 
Antonia  cried  aloud  with  joy,  “ Why,  that’s  me  ! — now 
I shall  sing  again.”  And,  in  truth,  there  was  something 
remarkably  striking  about  the  clear,  silvery,  bell-like 
tones  of  the  violin  ; they  seemed  to  have  been  engen- 
dered in  the  human  soul.  Krespel’s  heart  was  deeply 
moved  ; he  played,  too,  better  than  ever.  As  he  ran  up 
and  down  the  scale,  playing  bold  passages  with  consum- 
mate power  and  expression,  she  clapped  her  hands  to- 
gether and  cried  with  delight,  “ I did  that  well  ! I did 
that  well  ! ” 

From  this  time  onwards  her  life  was  filled  with  peace 
and  cheerfulness.  She  often  said  to  the  Councillor, 
“ I should  like  to  sing  something,  father.”  Then 
Krespel  would  take  his  violin  down  from  the  wall  and 
play  her  most  beautiful  songs,  and  her  heart  was  right 

glad  and  happy.  Shortly  before  my  arrival  in  H- , 

the  Councillor  fancied  one  night  that  he  heard  some- 
body playing  the  piano  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  he 

soon  made  out  distinctly  that  B was  flourishing  on 

the  instrument  in  his  usual  style.  He  wished  to  get 
up,  but  felt  himself  held  down  as  if  by  a dead  weight, 
and  lying  as  if  fettered  in  iron  bonds  ; he  was  utterly 
unable  to  move  an  inch.  Then  Antonia’s  voice  was 
heard  singing  low  and  soft  ; soon,  however,  it  began  to 
rise  and  rise  in  volume  until  it  became  an  ear-spL.ting 
fortissimo  ; and  at  length  she  passed  over  into  a power- 
fully impressive  song  which  B had  once  composed 

for  her  in  the  devotional  style  of  the  old  masters. 
Krespel  described  his  condition  as  being  incompre- 


THE  CREMONA  VIOLIN. 


31 


hensible,  for  terrible  anguish  was  mingled  with  a de- 
light he  had  never  experienced  before.  All  at  once  he 
was  surrounded  by  a dazzling  brightness,  in  which  he 

beheld  B and  Antonia  locked  in  a close  embrace, 

and  gazing  at  each  other  in  a rapture  of  ecstasy.  The 
music  of  the  song  and  of  the  pianoforte  accompanying 
it  went  on  without  any  visible  signs  that  Antonia  sang 

or  that  B touched  the  instrument.  Then  the 

Councillor  fell  into  a sort  of  dead  faint,  whilst  the  im- 
ages vanished  away.  On  awakening  he  still  felt  the 
terrible  anguish  of  his  dream.  He  rushed  into  An- 
tonia’s room.  She  lay  on  the  sofa,  her  eyes  closed,  a 
sweet  angelic  smile  on  her  face,  her  hands  devoutly 
folded,  and  looking  as  if  asleep  and  dreaming  of  the 
joys  and  raptures  of  heaven.  But  she  was — dead. 


THE  FERM  A TA. 


TTUMMEL’S1  amusing,  vivacious  picture,  “ Company 
^ * in  an  Italian_  Inn,”  became  known  by  the  Art  Exhi- 
bition at  Berlin  in  the  autumn  of  1814,  where  it  ap- 
peared, to  the  delight  of  all  who  saw  and  studied  it. 
An  arbour  almost  hidden  in  foliage — a table  covered 
with  wine-flasks  and  fruits — two  Italian  ladies  sitting 
at  it  opposite  each  other,  one  singing,  the  other  playing 
a guitar;  between  them,  more  in  the  background,  stands 
an  abbot,  acting  as  music-director.  With  his  baton 
raised,  he  is  awaiting  the  moment  when  the  Signora 
shall  end,  in  a long  trill,  the  cadence  which,  with  her 
eyes  directed  heavenwards,  she  is  just  in  the  midst  of  ; 
then  down  will  come  his  hand,  whilst  the  guitarist  gaily 
dashes  off  the  dominant  chord.  The  abbot  is  filled  with 
admiration — with  exquisite  delight — and  at  the  same 
time  his  attention  is  painfully  on  the  stretch.  He 
wouldn’t  miss  the  proper  downward  beat  for  the  world. 
He  hardly  dare  breathe.  He  would  like  to  stop  the 
mouth  and  wings  of  every  buzzing  bee  and  midge.  So 
much  the  more  therefore  is  he  annoyed  at  the  bustling 

1 Johann  Erdmann  Hummel,  born  1769,  died  1852,  a German 
painter,  studied  in  Italy,  painted  various  kinds  of  pieces,  and  also 
wrote  treatises  on  perspective  and  kindred  subjects.  The  picture  here 
referred  to  became  perhaps  almost  as  much  celebrated  from  the  fact  of 
its  having  suggested  this  amusing  sketch  to  Hoffmann  as  for  its  intrin- 
sic merits  as  a work  of  art. 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


33 


host  who  must  needs  come  and  bring  the  wine  just  at 
this  supreme,  delicious  moment.  An  outlook  upon  an 
avenue,  patterned  by  brilliant  strips  of  light ! There 
a horseman  has  pulled  up,  and  a glass  of  something  re- 
freshing to  drink  is  being  handed  up  to  him  on  horse- 
back. 

Before  this  picture  stood  the  two  friends  Edward 
and  .Theodore.  “The  more  I look  at  this  singer,”  said 
Edward,  “ in  her  gay  attire,  who,  though  rather  oldish, 
is  yet  full  of  the  true  inspiration  of  her  art,  and  the 
more  I am  delighted  with  the  grave  but  genuine  Roman 
profile  and  lovely  form  of  the  guitarist,  and  the  more 
my  estimable  friend  the  abbot  amuses  me,  the  more 
does  the  whole  picture  seem  to  me  instinct  with  free, 
strong,  vital  power.  It  is  plainly  a caricature  in  the 
higher  sense  of  the  term,  but  rich  in  grace  and  vivacity. 
I should  just  like  to  step  into  that  arbour  and  open  one 
of  those  dainty  little  flasks  which  are  ogling  me  from 
the  table.  I tell  you  what,  I fancy  I can  already  smell 
something  of  the  swreet  fragrance  of  the  noble  wine. 
Come,  it  were  a sin  for  this  solicitation  tobe  wasted  on 
the  cold  senseless  atmosphere  that  is  about  us  here. 
Let  us  go  and  drain  a flask  of  Italian  wine  in  honour 
of  this  fine  picture,  of  art,  and  of  merry  Italy,  where  life 
is  exhilarating  and  given  for  pleasure.” 

Whilst  Edward  was  running  on  thus  in  disconnected 
sentences,  Theodore  stood  silent  and  deeply  absorbed 
in  reflection.  “ Ay,  that  we  will,  come  along,”  he  said, 
starting  up  as  if  awakening  out  of  a dream  ; but  never- 
theless he  had  some  difficulty  in  tearing  himself  away 
from  the  picture,  and  as  he  mechanically  followed  his 
friend,  he  had  to  stop  at  the  door  to  cast  another  long- 
ing lingering  look  back  u^en-tbe- singer^  and  guitarist 
and  abbot.  Edward’s  proposal  easily  admitted  of  being 
carried  into  execution.  They  crossed  the  street  diag- 


34 


THE  FERM  AT  A. 


onally,  and  very  soon  a flask  exactly  like  those  in  the 
picture  stood  before  them  injala  Tarone’s  1 little  blue 
room.  “ It  seems  to  me,”  said  Edward,  as  Theodore 
still  continued  very  silent  and  thoughtful,  even  after  sev- 
eral glasses  had  been  drunk,  “it  seems  to  me  that  the 
picture  has  made  a deeper  impression  upon  you  than 
upon  me,  and  not  such  an  agreeable  impression  either.” 
“I  assure  you,”  replied  Theodore,  “that  I lost  nothing  of 
the  brightness  and  grace  of  that  animated  composition  ; 
yet  it  is  very  singular, — it  is  a faithful  representation  of 
a scene  out  of  my  own  life,  reproducing  the  portraits  of 
the  parties  concerned  in  it  in  a manner  startlingly  life- 
like. You  will,  however,  agree  with  me  that  diverting 
memories  also  have  the  power  of  strangely  moving  the 
mind  when  they  suddenly  spring  up  in  this  extraordinary 
and  unexpected  way,  as  if  awakened  by  the  wave  of  a 
magician’s  wand.  That’s  the  case  with  me  just  now.” 
“ What  ! a scene  out  of  your  own  life  ! ” exclaimed  Ed- 
ward, quite  astonished.  “ Do  you  mean  to  say  the  pic- 
ture represents  an  episode  in  your  own  life  ? I saw 
at  once  that  the  two  ladies  and  the  priest  were  emi- 
nently successful  portraits,  but  I never  for  a moment 
dreamed  that  you  had  ever  come  across  them  in  the 
course  of  your  life.  Come  now,  tell  me  all  about  it, 
how  it  all  came  about  ; we  are  quite  alone,  nobody  else 
will  come  at  this  time  o’  day.”  “ Willingly,”  answered 
Theodore,  “ but  unfortunately  I must  go  a long  way 
back — to  my  early  youth  in  fact.”  “ Never  mind  ; fire 
away,”  rejoined  Edward  ; “ I don’t  know  over  much 
about  your  early  days.  If  it  lasts  a good  while,  nothing 
worse  will  happen  than  that  we  shall  have  to  empty  a 
bottle  more  than  we  at  first  bargained  for  ; and  to  that 


1 The  keeper  of  a well-known  tavern  in  Berlin,  at  about  the  time 
when  this  tale  was  written,  1817  to  1820. 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


35 


nobody  will  have  any  objection,  neither  we,  nor  Mr. 
Tarone.” 

“ That,  throwing  everything  else  aside, __I  at  length 
devoted  myself  entirely  to  the  noble  art  of  music,” 
began  Theodore,  “ need  excite  nobody’s'  astonishment, 
for  whilst  still  a boy  I would  hardly  do  anything  else 
but  play,  and  spent  hours  and  hours  strumming  on  my 
uncle’s  old  creaking,  jarring  piano.  The  little  town 
was  very  badly  provided  for  music  ; there  was  nobody 
who  could  give  me  instruction  except  an  old  opinion- 
ated  organist  ; he,  however,  was  merely  a dry  arith- 
metician, and  plagued  me  to  death  with  obscure,  un- 
melodious  toccatas  and  fugues.  But  I held  on  bravely, 
without  letting  myself  be  daunted.  The  old  fellow 
was  crabby,  and  often  found  a good  deal  of  fault,  but 
he  had  only  to  play  a good  piece  in  his  own  powerful 
style,  and  I was  at  once  reconciled  both  with  him  and 
with  his  art.  I was  then  often  in  a curious  state  of 
mind  ; many  pieces  particularly  of  old  Sebastian  Bach 
were  almost  like  a fearful  ghost-story,  and  I yielded 
myself  up  to  that  feeling  of  pleasurable  awe  to  which 
we  are  so  prone  in  the  days  of  our  fantastic  youth. 
But  I entered  into  a veritable  Eden  when,  as  sometimes 
happened  in  winter,  the  bandmaster  of  the  town  and 
his  colleagues,  supported  by  a few  other  moderate  dil- 
ettante players,  gave  a concert,  and  I,  owing  to  the  strict 
time  I always  kept,  was  permitted  to  play  the  kettle- 
drum  in  the  symphony.  It  was  not  until  later  that  I per- 
ceived how  ridiculous  and  extravagant  these  concerts 
were.  My  teacher  generally  played  two  concertos  on 
the  piano  by  Wolff  or  Emanuel  Bach,'  a member  of 
the  town  band  struggled  with  Stamitz,1 2  while  the  re- 

1 The  third  son  of  the  Sebastian  Bach — the  Bach — just  mentioned 

above.  He  was  sometimes  called  “ the  Berlin  Bach,”  or  “the  Ham- 

burg Bach.”  3 See  note,  p.  12  above. 


36 


THE  FERM  AT  A. 


ceiver  of  excise  duties  worked  away  hard  at  the  flute, 
and  took  in  such  an  immense  supply  of  breath  that  he 
blew  out  both  lights  on  his  music-stand,  and  always 
had  to  have  them  relighted  again.  Singing  wasn’t 
thought  about ; my  uncle,  a great  friend  and  patron 
of  music,  always  disparaged  the  local  talent  in  this 
line.  He  still  dwelt  with  exuberant  delight  upon  the 
days  gone  by,  when  the  four  choristers  of  the  four 
churches  of  the  town  agreed  together  to  give  Lottchen 
am  Hofe.'  Above  all,  he  was  wont  to  extol  the  tolera- 
tion which  united  the  singers  in  the  production  of  this 
work  of  art,  for  not  only  the  Catholic  and  the  Evan- 
gelical but  also  the  Reformed  community  was  split  into 
two  bodies — those  speaking  German  and  those  speak- 
ing  French.  The  French  chorister  was  not  daunted 
by  the  Lottchen , but,  as  my  uncle  maintained,  sang  his 
part,  spectacles  on  nose,  in  the  finest  falsetto  that  ever 
proceeded  forth  from  a human  breast.  Now  there  was 
amongst  us  (I  mean  in  the  town)  a spinster  named 
JMeibel,  aged  about,  fifty- five,  who  subsisted  upon  the 
scanty  pension  which  she  received  as  a retired  court 
singer  of  the  metropolis,  and  my  uncle  was  rightly  of 
opinion  that  Miss  Meibel  might  still  do  something  for 
her  money  in  the  concert  hall.  She  assumed  airs  of 
importance,  required  a good  deal  of  coaxing,  but  at 
last  consented,  so  that  we  came  to  have  bravuras  in  our 
concerts.  She  was  a singular  creature  this  Miss  Meibel. 
I still  retain  a lively  recollection  of  her  lean  little  figure. 
Dressed  in  a many-coloured  gown,  she  was  wont  to 
step  forward  with  her  roll  of  music  in  her  hand,  looking 
very  grave  and  solemn,  and  to  acknowledge  the  au- 
dience with  a slight  inclination  of  the  upper  part  of 

1 This  was  one  of  a species  of  musical  composition  called  Singspiele, 
a development  of  the  simple  song  or  Lied,  by  Johann  Adam  Hiller, 
(properly  Hüller),  born  1728,  died  1804. 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


37 


her  body.  Her  head-dress  was  a most  remarkable 
head-dress.  In  front  was  fastened  a nosegay  of  Italian 
flowers  of  porcelain,  which  kept  up  a strange  tremb- 
ling and  tottering  as  she  sang.  At  the  end,  after  the 
audience  had  greeted  her  with  no  stinted  measure  of 
applause,  she  proudly  handed  the  music-roll  to  my 
uncle,  and  permitted  him  to  dip  his  thumb  and  finger 
into  a little  porcelain  snuff-box,  fashioned  in  the  shape 
of  a pug  dog,  out  of  which  she  took  a pinch  herself 
with  evident  relish.  She  had  a horrible  squeaky  voice, 
indulged  in  all  sorts  of  ludicrous  flourishes  and  rou- 
lades, and  so  you  may  imagine  what  an  effect  all  this, 
combined  with  her  ridiculous  manners  and  style  of 
dress,  could  not  fail  to  have  upon  me.  My  uncle  over- 
flowed with  panegyrics  ; that  I could  not  understand, 
and  so  turned  the  more  readily  to  my  organist,  who, 
looking  with  contempt  upon  vocal  efforts  in  general, 
delighted  me  down  to  the  ground  as  in  his  hypochon- 
driac malicious  way  he  parodied  the  ludicrous  old  spin- 
ster. 

“ The  more  decidedly  I came  to  share  with  my  master 
his  contempt  for  singing,  the  higher  did  he  rate  my 
musical  genius.  He  took  a great  and  zealous  interest 
in  instructing  me  in  counterpoint,  so  that  I soon  came 
to  write  the  most  ingenious  toccatas  and  fugues.  I 
was  once  playing  one  of  these  ingenious  specimens  of 
my  skill  to  my  uncle  on  my  birthday  (I  was  nineteen 
years  old),  when  the  waiter  of  our  first  hotel  stepped 
into  the  room  to  announce  the  visit  of  two  foreign 
ladies  who  had  just  arrived  in  the  town.  Before  my 
uncle  could  throw  off  his  dressing-gown — it  was  of  a 
large  flower  pattern — and  don  his  coat  and  vest,  his 
visitors  were  already  in  the  room.  You  know  what  an 
electric  effect  every  strange  event  has  upon  those  who 
are  brought  up  in  the  narrow  seclusion  of  a small 


38 


THE  FERM  AT  A. 


country  town  ; this  in  particular,  which  crossed  my 
path  so  unexpectedly,  was  pre-eminently  fitted  to  work 
a complete  revolution  within  me.  Picture  to  yourself 
two  tall,  slender  Italian  ladies,  dressed  fantastically 
and  in  bright  colours,  quite  up  to  the  latest  fashion, 
meeting  my  uncle  with  the  freedom  of  professional 

(i artistes , and  yet  with  considerable  charms  of  manner, 
and  addressing  him  in  firm  and  sonorous  voices.  What 
the  deuce  of  a strange  tongue  they  speak  ! Only  now 
and  then  does  it  sound  at  all  like  German.  My  uncle 
doesn’t  understand  a word  ; embarrassed,  mute  as  a 
maggot,  he  steps  back  and  points  to  the  sofa.  They 
sit  down,  talk  together — it  sounds  like  music  itself. 
At  length  they  succeed  in  making  my  good  uncTe~CUm- 
prehend  that  they  are  singers  on  a tour  ; they  would 
like  to  give  a concert  in  the  place,  and  have  come  to 
him,  as  he  is  the  man  to  conduct  such  musical  negotia- 
tions. 

“ Whilst  they  were  talking  together  I picked  up  their 
Christian  names,  and  I fancied  that  I could  now  more 
easily  and  more  distinctly  distinguish  the  one  from  the 
other,  for  their  both  making  their  appearance  together 
had  at  first  confused  me.  Lauretta,  apparently  the  elder 
of  the  two,  looked  about^ierAvith  sparkling  eyes,  and 
talked  away  at  my  embarrassed  old  uncle  with  gushing 
vivacity  and  with  demonstrative  gestures.  She  was  not 
too  tall,  and  of  a voluptuous  build,  so  that  my  eyes 
wandered  amid  many  charms  that  hitherto  had  been 
strangers  to  them.  Teresina,  taller,  more  slender,  with 
a long  grave  face,  spoke  but  seldom,  but  what  she  did 
say  was  more  intelligible.  Now  and  then  a peculiar 
smile  flitted  across  her  features  ; it  almost  seemed  as  if 
she  were  highly  amused  at  my  good  uncle,  who  had 
withdrawn  into  his  silken  dressing-gown  like  a snail 
into  its  shell,  and  was  vainly  endeavouring  to  push  out 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


39 


of  sight  a treacherous  yellow  string,  with  which  he  fast- 
ened his  night-jacket  together,  and  which  would  keep 
tumbling  out  of  his  bosom  yards  and  yards  long.  At 
length  they  rose  to  depart ; my  uncle  promised  to  ar- 
range everything  for  the  concert  for  the  third  day  fol- 
lowing ; then  the  sisters  gave  him  and  me,  whom  he 
introduced  to  them  as  a young  musician,  a most  polite 
invitation  to  take  chocolate  with  them  in  the  afternoon. 

“We  mounted  the  steps  with  a solemn  air  and  awk- 
ward gait  ; we  both  felt  very  peculiar,  as  if  we  were 
going  to  meet  some  adventure  to  which  we  were  not 
equal.  In  consequence  of  due  previous  preparation  my 
uncle  had  a good  many  fine  things  to  say  about  art,' 
which  nobody  understood,  neither  he  himself  nor  any 
of  the  rest  of  us.  This  done,  and  after  I had  thrice 
burned  my  tongue  with  the  scalding  hot  chocolate, 
but  with  the  stoical  fortitude  of  a Scaevola  had  smiled 
under  the  fiery  infliction,  Lauretta  at  length  said  that 
she  would  sing  to  us.  Teresina  took  her  guitar,  tuned 
it,  and  struck  a few  full  chords.  It  was  the  first  time 
I had  heard  the  instrument,  and  the  characteristic 
mysterious  sounds  of  the  trembling  strings  made  a deep 
and  wonderful  impression  upon  me.  Lauretta  began 
very  softly  and  held  on,  the  note  rising  to  fortissimo, and 
then  quickly  broke  into  a crisp  complicated  run  through 
an  octave  and  a half.  I can  still  remember  the  words 
of  the  beginning,  ‘ Sento  T arnica  speme.'  My  heart  was 
oppressed  ; I had  never  had  an  idea  of  anything  of  the 
kind.  But  as  Lauretta  continued  to  soar  in  bolder  and 
higher  flights,  and  as  the  musical  notes  poured  upon 
me  like  sparkling  rays,  thicker  and  thicker,  then  was 
the  music  that  had  so  long  lain  mute  and  lifeless  with- 
in me  enkindled,  rising-  up  in  strong,  grand  flames. 
Ah  ! I had  never  heard  what  music  was  in  my  life 
before  ! Then  the  sisters  sang  one  of  those  grand  im- 


40 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


pressive  duets  of  Abbot  Steffani 1 which  confine  them, 
selves  to  notes  of  a low  register.  My  soul  was  stirred 
at  the  sound  of  Teresina’s  alto,  it  was  so  sonorous,  and 
as  pure  as  silver  bells.  I couldn’t  for  the  life  of  me 
restrain  my  emotion  ; tears  started  to  my  eyes.  My 
uncle  coughed  warningly^and  cast  angry  glances  upon 
me  ; it  was  all  of  no  use,  I was  really  quite  beside  my- 
self. This  seemed  to  please  the  sisters  ; they  began 
to  inquire  into  the  nature  and  extent  of  my  musical 
studies  ; I was  ashamed  of  my  performances  in  that 
line,  and  with  the  hardihood  born  of  enthusiastic  ad- 
miration, I bluntly  declared  that  that  day  was  the  first 
time  I had  ever  heard  music.  ‘The  dear  good  boy!’ 
lisped  Lauretta,  so  sweetly  and  bewitchingly. 

“On  reaching  home  again,  I was  seized  with  a sort 
of  fury  : I pounced  upon  all  the  toccatas  and  fugues 
that  I had  hammered  out,  as  well  as  a beautiful  copy 
of  forty-five  variations  of  a canonical  theme  that  the 
organist  had  written  and  done  me  the  honour  of  pre- 
senting to  me, — all  these  I threw  into  the  fire,  and 
laughed  with  spiteful  glee  as  the  double  counterpoint 
smoked  and  crackled.  Then  I sat  down  at  the  piano 
and  tried  first  to  imitate  the  tones  of  the  guitar,  then 
to  play  the  sisters’  melodies,  and  finished  by  attempting 
to  sing  them.  At  length  about  midnight  my  uncle 
emerged  from  his  bedroom  and  greeted  me  with,  ‘ My 
boy,  you’d  better  just  stop  that  screeching  and  troop 
off  to  bed;’  and  he  put  out  both  candles  and  went 
back  to  his  own  room.  I had  no  other  alternative  but 
to  obey.  The  mysterious  power  of  song  came  to  me 
in  my  dreams — at  least  I thought  so — for  I sang  ‘ Sento 
I' arnica  speme  ’ in  excellent  style. 

1 Agostino  Steffani,  an  Italian  by  birth  (1655),  spent  nearly  all  his 
life  in  Germany  at  the  courts  of  Munich  and  Hanover.  He  wrote 
several  operas,  and  was  renowned  for  his  duets,  motets,  &c. 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


41 


“ The  next  morning  my  uncle  had  hunted  up  every- 
body who  could  fiddle  and  blow  for  the  rehearsal.  He 
was  proud  to  show  what  good  musicians  the  town  pos- 
sessed ; but  everything  seemed  to  go  perversely  wrong. 
Lauretta  set  to  work  at  a fine  scena  ; but  very  soon  in 
the  recitative  the  orchestra  was  all  at  sixes  and  sevens, 
not  one  of  them  had  any  idea  of  accompaniment. 
Lauretta  screamed — raved — wept  with  impatience  and 
anger.  The  organist  was  presiding  at  the  piano  ; she 
attacked  him  with  the  bitterest  reproaches.  He  got  up 
and  in  silent  obduracy  marched  out  of  the  hall.  The 
bandmaster  of  the  town,  whom  Lauretta  had  dubbed 
a ‘German  ass!’  took  his  violin  under  his  arm,  and, 
banging  his  hat  on  his  head  with  an  air  of  defiance, 
likewise  made  for  the  door.  The  members  of  his 
company,  sticking  their  bows  under  the  strings  of 
their  violins,  and  unscrewing  the  mouthpieces  of  their 
brass  instruments,  followed  him.  There  was  nobody 
but  the  dilettanti  left,  and  they  gazed  about  them  with 
disconsolate  looks,  whilst  the  receiver  of  excise  duties 
exclaimed,  with  a tragic  air,  ‘ O heaven  ! how  mortified 
I feel ! ’ All  my  diffidence  was  gone, — I threw  myself 
in  the  bandmaster’s  way,  I begged,  I prayed,  in  my  dis- 
tress I promised  him  six  new  minuets  with  double  trios 
for  the  annual  ball.  I succeeded  in  appeasing  him. 
He  went  back  to  his  place,  his  companions  followed 
suit,  and  soon  the  orchestra  was  reconstituted,  except 
that  the  organist  was  wanting.  He  was  slowly  making 
his  way  across  the  market-place,  no  shouting  or  beckon- 
ing could  make  him  turn  back.  Teresina  had  looked 
on  at  the  whole  scene  with^smothered  laughter,  while 
Lauretta  was  now  as  full  of  glee  as  before  she  had  been 
of  anger.  She  was  unstinted  in  her  praise  of  my  efforts  ; 
she  asked  me  if  I played  the  piano,  and  ere  I knew  w'hat 
I was  about,  I sat  in  the  organist’s  place  with  the  music 


42 


THE  FERM  AT  A. 


before  me.  Never  before  had  I accompanied  a singer, 
still  less  directed  an  orchestra.  Teresina  sat  down  be- 
side me  at  the  piano  and  gave  me  every  time  ; Lauretta 
encouraged  me  with  repeated  ‘ Bravos  ! ’ the  orchestra 
proved  manageable,  and  things  continued  to  improve. 
Everything  was  worked  out  successfully  at  the  second 
rehearsal  ; and  the  effect  of  the  sisters’  singing  at  the 
concert  is  not  to  be  described. 

“ The  sovereign’s  return  to  his  capital  was  to  be  cele- 
brated there  with  several  festive  demonstrations  ; the 
sisters  were  summoned  to  sing  in  the  theatre  and  at  con- 
certs. Until  the  time  that  their  presence  was  required 
they  resolved  to  remain  in  our  little  town,  and  thus  it 
came  to  pass  that  they  gave  us  a few  more  concerts. 
The  admiration  of  the  public  rose  to  a kind  of  madness. 
Old  Miss  Meibel,  however,  took  with  a deliberate  air  a 
pinch  of  snuff  out  of  her  porcelain  pug  and  gave  her 
opinion  that  ‘ such  impudent  caterwauling  was  not 
singing  ; singing  should  be  low  and  melodious.’  My 
friend,  the  organist,  never  showed  himself  again,  and, 
in  truth,  I did  not  miss  him  in  the  least.  I was  the 
happiest  fellow  in  the  world.  The  whole  day  long  I 
spent  with  the  sisters,  copying  out  the  vocal  scores  of 
what  they  were  to  sing  in  the  capital.  Lauretta  was 
my  ideal ; her  vile  caprices,  her  terribly  passionate  vio- 
lence, the  torments  she  inflicted  upon  me  at  the  piano 
— all  these  I bore  with  patience.  She  alone  had  un- 
sealed for  me  the  springs  of  true  music.  I began  to 
study  Italian,  and  try  my  hand  at  a few  canzonets.  In 
what  heavenly  rapture  was  I plunged  when  Lauretta 
sang  my  compositions,  or  even  praised  them.  Often  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  it  was  not  I who  had  thought  out 
and  set  what  she  sang,  but  that  the  thought  first  shone 
forth  in  her  singing  of  it.  With  Teresina  I could  not 
somehow  get  on  familiar  terms  ; she  saner  but  seldom, 


THE  FERM  AT  A. 


43 


and  didn’t  seem  to  make  much  account  of  all  that  I 
was  doing,  and  sometimes  I even  fancied  that  she  was 
laughing  at  me  behind  my  back.  At  length  the  time 
came  for  them  to  leave  the  town.  And  now  I felt  for 
the  first  time  how  dear ^Lauretta  had  become  to  me, 
and  how  impossible  it  would  be  for  me  to  separate  from 
her.  Often,  when  she  was  in  a tender,  playful  mood, 
she  had  caressed  me,  although  always  in  a perfectly 
artless  fashion  ; nevertheless,  my  blood  was  excited,  and 
it  was  nothing  but  the  strange  coolness  with  which  she 
was  more  usually  wont  to  treat  me  that  restrained  me 
from  giving  reins  to  my  ardour  and  clasping  her  in  my 
arms  in  a delirium  of  passion.  I possessed  a tolerably 
good  tenor  voice,  which,  however,  I had  never  prac- 
tised, but  now  I began  to  cultivate  it  assiduously.  I 
frequently  sang  with  Lauretta  one  of  those  tender 
Italian  duets  of  which  there  exists  such  an  endless 
number.  We  were  just  singing  one  of  these  pieces,  the 
hour  of  departure  was  close  at  hand — ‘ Senza  di  te  ben 
mio,  vivere  non  poss'  io  ’ (‘  Without  thee,  my  own,  I can- 
not live  ! ’)  Who  could  resist  that  ? I threw  myself  at 
her  feet — I was  in  despair.  She  raised  me  up — ‘ But, 
my  friend,  need  we  then  part  ? ’ I pricked  up  my  ears 
with  amazement.  She  proposed  that  I should  accom- 
pany her  and  Teresina  to  the  capital,  for  if  I intended 
to  devote  myself  wholly  to  music  I must  leave  this 
wretched  little  town  some  time  or  other.  Picture  to 
yourself  one  struggling  in  the  dark  depths  of  bound- 
less despair,  who  has  given  up  all  hopes  of  life,  and  who, 
in  the  moment  in  which  he  expects  to  receive  the  blow 
that  is  to  crush  him  for  ever,  suddenly  finds  himself 
sitting  in  a glorious  bright  arbour  of  roses,  where  hun- 
dreds of  unseen  but  loving  voices  whisper,  ‘You  are 
still  alive,  dear, — still  alive  ’ — and  you  will  know  how 
I felt  then.  Along  with  them  to  the  capital ! that  had 


44 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


seized  upon  my  heart  as  an  ineradicable  resolution. 
But  I won’t  tire  you  with  the  details  of  how  I set  to 
work  to  convince  my  uncle  that  I ought  now  by  all 
means  to  go  to  the  capital,  which,  moreover,  was  not 
very  far  away.  He  at  length  gave  his  consent,  and  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  going  with  me.  Here  was  a 
tricksy  stroke  of  fortune  ! I dare  not  give  utterance 
to  my  purpose  of  travelling  in  company  with  the  sis- 
ters. A violent  cold,  which  my  uncle  caught,  proved 
my  saviour. 

“ I left  the  town  by  the  stage-coach,  but  only  went  as 
far  as  the  first  stopping-station,  where  I awaited  my 
divinity.  A well-lined  purse  enabled  me  to  make  all 
due  and  fitting  preparations.  I was  seized  with  the 
romantic  idea  of  accompanying  the  ladies  in  the  char- 
acter of  a protecting  paladin— on  horseback  ; I secured 
a horse,  which,  though  not  particularly  handsome,  was, 
its  owner  assured  me,  quiet,  and  I rode  back  at  the 
appointed  time  to  meet  the  two  fair  singers.  I soon 
saw  the  little  carriage,  which  had  two  seats,  coming  to- 
wards me.  Lauretta  and  Teresina  sat  on  the  principal 
seat,  whilst  on  the  other,  with  her  back  to  the  driver, 
sat  their  maid,  the  fat  little  Gianna,  a brown-cheeked 
Neapolitan.  Besides  this  living  freight,  the  carriage 
was  packed  full  of  boxes,  satchels,  and  baskets  of  all 
sizes  and  shapes,  such  as  invariably  accompany  ladies 
when  they  travel.  Two  little  pug-dogs  which  Gianna 
was  nursing  in  her  lap  began  to  bark  when  I gaily 
saluted  the  company. 

“All  was  going  on  very  nicely  ; we  were  traversing 
the  last  stage  of  the  journey,  when  my  steed  all  at 
once  conceived  the  idea  that  it  was  high  time  to  be 
returning  homewards.  Being  aware  that  stern  mea- 
sures were  not  always  blessed  with  a remarkable  degree 
of  success  in  such  cases,  I felt  advised  to  have  recourse 


THE  FEE  MATA. 


45 


to  milder  means  of  persuasion ; but  the  obstinate  brute 
remained  insensible  to  all  my  well-meant  exhortations.  • 
I wanted  to  go  forwards,  he  backwards,  and  all  the  ad- 
vantage that  my  efforts  gave  me  over  him  was  that  in- 
stead of  taking  to  his  heels  for  home,  he  continued  to 
run  round  in  circles.  Teresina  leaned  forward  out  of 
the  carriage  and  had  a hearty  laugh  ; Lauretta,  holding 
her  hands  before  her  face,  screamed  out  as  if  I were  in 
imminent  danger.  This  gave  me  the  courage  of  despair, 

I drove  the  spurs  into  the  brute’s  ribs,  but  that  very 
same  moment  I was  roughly  hurled  off  and  found  my- 
self sprawling  on  the  ground.  The  horse  stood  per- 
fectly still,  and,  stretching  out  his  long  neck,  regarded 
me  with  what  I took  to  be  nothing  else  than  derision. 

I was  not  able  to  rise  to  my  feet ; the  driver  had  to  come 
and  help  me  ; Lauretta  had  jumped  out  and  was  weep- 
ing and  lamenting  ; Teresina  did  nothing  but  laugh 
without  ceasing.  I had  sprained  my  foot,  and  couldn’t 
possibly  mount  again.  How  was  I to  get  on  ? My  steed 
was  fastened  to  the  carriage,  whilst  I crept  into  it.  Just 
picture  us  all — two  rather  robust  females,  a fat  servant- 
girl,  two  pug-dogs,  a dozen  boxes,  satchels,  and  baskets, 
and  me  as  well,  all  packed  into  a little  carriage.  Pict- 
ure Lauretta’s  complaints  at  the  uncomfortableness  of 
her  seat,  the  howling  of  the  pups,  the  chattering  of  the 
Neapolitan,  Teresina’s  sulks,  the  unspeakable  pain  I 
felt  in  my  foot,  and  you  will  have  some  idea  of  my 
enviable  situation  ! Teresina  averred  that  she  could 
not  endure  it  any  longer.  We  stopped  ; in  a trice  she 
was  out  of  the  carriage,  had  untied  my  horse,  and  was 
up  in  the  saddle,  prancing  and  curvetting  around  us.  I 
must  indeed  admit  that  she  cut  a fine  figure.  The  dig- 
nity and  elegance  which  marked  her  carriage  and  bear- 
ing were  still  more  prominent  on  horseback.  She  asked 
for  her  guitar,  then  dropping  the  reins  on  her  arm,  she 


46 


THE  FERMATA. 


began  to  sing  proud  Spanish  ballads  with  a full-toned 
accompaniment.  Her  light  silk  dress  fluttered  in  the 
wind,  its  folds  and  creases  giving  rise  to  a sheeny  play 
of  light,  whilst  the  white  feathers  of  her  hat  quivered 
and  shook,  like  the  prattling  spirits  of  the  air  which  we 
heard  in  her  voice.  Altogether  she  made  such  a roman- 
tic figure  that  I could  not  keep  my  eyes  off  her,  not- 
withstanding that  Lauretta  reproached  her  for  making 
herself  such  a fantastic  simpleton,  and  predicted  that 
shq  would  suffer  for  her  audacity.  But  no  accident 
happened  ; either  the  horse  had  lost  all  his  stubborn- 
ness or  he  liked  the  fair  singer  better  than  the  paladin  ; 
at  any  rate,  Teresina  did  not  creep  back  into  the  car- 
riage again  until  we  had  almost  reached  the  gates  of 
the  town. 

“ If  you  had  seen  me  then  at  concerts  and  operas,  if 
you  had  seen  me  revelling  in  all  sorts  of  music,  and  as 
a diligent  accompanist  studying  arias,  duets,  and  I 
don’t  know  what  besides  at  the  piano,  you  would  have 
perceived,  by  the  complete  change  in  my  behaviour, 
that  I was  filled  with  a new  and  wonderful  spirit.  I 
had  cast  off  all  my  rustic  shyness,  and  sat  at  the  piano- 
forte with  my  score  before  me  like  an  experienced  pro- 
fessional, directing  the  performances  of  my  prima  donna. 
All  my  mind — all  my  thoughts — were  sweet  melodies. 
Utterly  regardless  of  all  the  rules  of  counterpoint,  I 
composed  all  sorts  of  canzonets  and  arias,  which  Lau 
retta  sang,  though  only  in  her  own  room.  Why  would 
she  never  sing  any  of  my  pieces  at  a concert  ? I could 
not  understand  it.  Teresina  also  arose  before  my 
imagination  curvetting  on  her  proud  steed  with  the 
lute  in  her  hands,  like  Art  herself  disguised  in  romance. 
Without  thinking  of  it  consciously,  I wrote  several 
songs  of  a high  and  serious  nature.  Lauretta,  it  is  true, 
played  with  her  notes  like  a capricious  fairy  queen. 


THE  FERMATA. 


47 


There  was  nothing  upon  which  she  ventured  in  which 
she  had  not  success.  But  never  did  a roulade  cross 
Teresina’s  lips  ; nothing  more  than  a simple  interpolated 
note,  at  most  a mordent ; but  her  long-sustained  tones 
gleamed  like  meteors  through  the  darkness  of  night, 
awakening  strange  spirits,  who  came  and  gazed  with 
earnest  eyes  into  the  depths  of  my  heart.  I know  not 
how  I remained  ignorant  of  them  so  long  ! 

“ The  sisters  were  granted  a benefit  concert  ; I sang 
with  Lauretta  a long  scena  from  Anfossi. 1 As  usual  I 
presided  at  the  piano.  We  came  to  the  last  fermata. 
Lauretta  exerted  all  her  skill  and  art  ; she  warbled  trill 
after  trill  like  a nightingale,  executed  sustained  notes, 
then  long  elaborate  roulades — a whole  solfeggio.  In 
fact,  I thought  she  was  almost  carrying  the  thing  too 
far  this  time  ; I felt  a soft  breath  on  my  cheek  ; Tere- 
sina  stood  behind  me.  At  this  moment  Lauretta  took 
a good  start  with  the  intention  of  swelling  up  to  a 
‘harmonic  shake,’  and  so  passing  back  into  a tempo. 
The  devil  entered  into  me  ; I jammed  down  the  keys 
with  both  hands ; the  orchestra  followed  suit ; and  it 
was  all  over  with  Lauretta’s  trill,  just  at  the  supreme 
moment  when  she  was  to  excite  everybody’s  astonish- 
ment. Almost  annihilating  me  with  a look  of  fury, 
she  crushed  her  roll  of  music  together,  tore  it  up,  and 
hurled  it  at  my  head,  so  that  the  pieces  flew  all  over 
me.  Then  she  rushed  like  a madwoman  through  the 
orchestra  into  the  adjoining  room  ; as  soon  as  we  had 
concluded  the  piece,  I followed  her.  She  wept  ; she 
raved.  ‘Out  of  my  sight,  villain,’  she  screamed  as 
soon  as  she  saw  me.  ‘You  devil,  you’ve  completely 
ruined  me — my  fame,  my  honour — and  oh  ! my  trill. 

1 Pasquale  Anfossi,  an  Italian  operatic  composer  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  He  was  for  a time  the  fashion  of  the  day  at  Rome,  but 
occupies  now  only  a subordinate  rank  amongst  musicians. 


48 


THE  FERMATA. 


Out  of  my  sight,  you  devil’s  own  ! ’ She  made  a rush 
at  me  ; I escaped  through  the  door.  Whilst  some  one 
else  was  performing,  Teresina  and  the  music-director  at 
length  succeeded  in  so  far  pacifying  her  rage,  that  she 
resolved  to  appear  again  ; but  I was  not  to  be  allowed 
to  touch  the  piano.  In  the  last  duet  that  the  sisters 
sang,  Lauretta  did  contrive  to  introduce  the  swelling 
‘ harmonic  shake,’  was  rewarded  with  a storm  of  ap- 
plause, and  settled  down  into  the  best  of  humours. 

“ But  I could  not  get  over  the  vile  treatment  which 
I had  received  at  her  hands  in  the  presence  of  so 
many  people,  and  I was  firmly  resolved  to  set  off 
home  next  morning  for  my  native  town.  I was  act- 
ually engaged  in  packing  my  things  together  when 
Teresina  came  into  my  room.  Observing  what  I was 
about,  she  exclaimed,  astonished,  ‘Are  you  going  to 
leave  us  ? ’ I gave  her  to  understand  that  after  the 
affront  which  had  been  put  upon  me  by  Lauretta  I 
could  not  think  of  remaining  any  longer  in  her  society. 
‘And  so,’  replied  Teresina,  ‘you’re  going  to  let  yourself 
be  driven  away  by  the  extravagant  conduct  of  a little 
fool,  who  is  now  heartily  sorry  for  what  she  has  done 
and  said.  Where  else  can  you  better  live  in  your  art 
than  with  us  ? Let  me  tell  you,  it  only  depends  upon 
yourself  and  your  own  behaviour  to  keep  her  from 
such  pranks  as  this.  You  are  too  compliant,  too  ten- 
der, too  gentle.  Besides,  you  rate  her  powers  too 
highly.  Her  voice  is  indeed  not  bad,  and  it  has  a 
wide  compass  ; but  what  else  are  all  these  fantastic 
warblings  and  flourishes,  these  preposterous  runs,  these 
never-ending  shakes,  but  delusive  artifices  of  style, 
which  people  admire  in  the  same  way  that  they  admire 
the  foolhardy  agility  of  a rope-dancer  ? Do  you  imagine 
that  such  things  can  make  any  deep  impression  upon  us 
and  stir  the  heart  ? The  ‘ harmonic  shake  ’ which  you 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


49 


spoilt  I cannot  tolerate  ; I always  feel  anxious  and 
pained  when  she  attempts  it.  And  then  this  scaling  up 
into  the  region  of  the  third  line  above  the  stave,  what 
is  it  but  a violent  straining  of  the  natural  voice,  which 
after  all  is  the  only  thing  that  really  moves  the  heart  ? 
I like  the  middle  notes  and  the  low  notes.  A sound 
that  penetrates  to  the  heart,  a real  quiet,  easy  transition 
from  note  to  note,  are  what  I love  above  all  things.  No 
useless  ornamentation — a firm,  clear,  strong  note — a 
definite  expression,  which  carries  away  the  mind  and 
soul — that’s  real  true  singing,  and  that’s  how  I sing. 
If  you  can’t  be  reconciled  to  Lauretta  again,  then  think 
of  Teresina,  who  indeed  likes  you  so  much  that  you 
shall  in  your  own  way  be  her  musical  composer.  Don’t 
be  cross — but  all  your  elegant  canzonets  and  arias  can't 
be  matched  with  this  single ,’  she  sang  in  her  sonor- 

ous way  a simple  devotional  sort  of  canzona  which  I had 
set  a few  days  before.  I had  never  dreamed  that  it 
could  sound  like  that.  I felt  the  power  of  the  music 
going  through  and  through  me  ; tears  of  joy  and  rap- 
ture stood  in  my  eyes  ; I seized  Teresina’s  hand,  and 
pressing  it  to  my  lips  a thousand  times,  swore  I would 
never  leave  her. 

“ Lauretta  looked  upon  my  intimacy  with  her  sister 
with  envious  but  suppressed  vexation,  and  she  could 
not  do  without  me,  for,  in  spite  of  her  skill,  she  was 
unable  to  study  a new  piece  without  help  ; she  read 
badly,  and  was  rather  uncertain  in  her  time.  Teresina, 
on  the  contrary,  sang  everything  at  sight,  and  her  ear 
for  time  was  unparalleled.  Never  did  Lauretta  give 
such  free  rein  to  her  caprice  and  violence  as  when 
her  accompaniments  were  being  practised.  They  were 
never  right  for  her ; she  looked  upon  them  as  a neces- 
sary evil  ; the  piano  ought  not  to  be  heard  at  all,  it 
should  always  be  pianissimo ; so  there  was  nothing  but 


50 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


giving  way  to  her  again  and  again,  and  altering  the 
time  just  as  the  whim  happened  to  come  into  her  head 
at  the  moment.  But  now  I took  a firm  stand  against 
her ; I combated  her  impertinences  ; I taught  her 
that  an  accompaniment  devoid  of  energy  was  not 
conceivable,  and  that  there  was  a marked  difference 
between  supporting  and  carrying  along  the  song  and 
letting  it  run  to  riot,  without  form  and  without  time. 
Teresina  faithfully  lent  me  her  assistance.  I composed 
nothing  but  pieces  for  the  Church,  writing  all  the 
solos  for  a voice  of  low  register.  Teresina,  too,  tyran- 
nised over  me  not  a little,  to  which  I submitted  with  a 
good  grace,  since  she  had  more  knowledge  of,  and  (so 
at  least  I thought)  more  appreciation  for,  German  seri- 
ousness than  her  sister. 

“We  were  touring  in  South  Germany.  In  a little 
town  we  met  an  Italian  tenor  who  was  making  his  way 
from  Milan  to  Berlin.  My  fair  companions  went  in 
ecstasies  over  their  countryman  ; he  stuck  close  to 
them,  cultivating  in  particular  Teresina's  acquaintance, 
so  that  to  my  great  vexation  I soon  came  to  play  rather 
a secondary  part.  Once,  just  as  I was  about  to  enter 
the  room  with  a roll  of  music  under  my  arm,  the 
voices  of  my  companions  and  the  tenor,  engaged  in  an 
animated  conversation,  fell  upon  my  ear.  My  name 
was  mentioned  ; I pricked  up  my  ears  ; I listened.  I 
now  understood  Italian  so  well  that  not  a word  escaped 
me.  Lauretta  was  describing  the  tragical  occurrence 
of  the  concert  when  I cut  short  her  trill  by  prematurely 
striking  down  the  concluding  notes  of  the  bar.  ‘A 
German  ass  ! ’ exclaimed  the  tenor.  I felt  as  if  I must 
rush  in  and  hurl  the  flighty  hero  of  the  boards  out  of 
the  window,  but  I restrained  myself.  She  then  went 
on  to  say  that  she  had  been  minded  to  send  me  about 
my  business  at  once,  but,  moved  by  my  clamorous 


THE  FERM  AT  A. 


5i 


entreaties,  she  had  so  far  had  compassion  upon  me  as 
to  tolerate  me  some  time  longer,  since  I was  studying 
singing  under  her.  This,  to  my  utter  amazement, 
Teresina  confirmed.  ‘Yes,  he’s  a good  child,’  she 
added  ; ‘he’s  in  love  with  me  now  and  sets  everything 
for  the  alto.  He  is  not  without  talent,  but  he  must 
rub  off  that  stiffness  and  awkwardness  which  is  so 
characteristic  of  the  Germans.  I hope  to  make  a good 
composer  out  of  him  ; then  he  shall  write  me  some 
good  things — for  there’s  very  little  written  as  yet  for 
the  alto  voice — and  afterwards  I shall  let  him  go  his 
own  way.  He’s  very  tiresome  with  his  billing  and 
cooing  and  love-sick  sighing,  and  he  worries  me  too 
much  with  his  wearisome  compositions,  which  have 
been  but  poor  stuff  up  to  the  present.’  ‘ I at  least 
have  now  got  rid  of  him,’ interrupted  Lauretta;  ‘and 
Teresina,  how  the  fellow  pestered  me  with  his  arias 
and  duets  you  know  very  well.’  And  now  she  began 
to  sing  a duet  of  my  composing,  which  formerly  she 
had  praised  very  highly.  The  other  sister  took  up  the 
second  voice,  and  they  parodied  me  both  in  voice  and 
in  execution  in  the  most  shameful  manner.  The  tenor 
laughed  till  the  walls  rang  again.  My  limbs  froze  ; 
at  once  I formed  an  irrevocable  resolve.  I quietly 
slipped  away  from  the  door  back  into  my  own  room, 
the  windows  of  which  looked  upon  a side  street. 
Opposite  was  the  post-office  ; the  post-coach  for  Bam- 
berg had  just  driven  up  to  take  in  the  mails  and 
passengers.  The  latter  were  all  standing  ready  wait* 
ing  in  the  gateway,  but  I had  still  an  hour  to  spare. 
Hastily  packing  up  my  things,  I generously  paid  the 
whole  of  the  bill  at  the  hotel,  and  hurried  across  to 
the  post-office.  As  I crossed  the  broad  street  I saw 
the  fair  sisters  and  the  Italian  still  standing  at  the 
window,  and  looking  out  to  catch  the  sound  of  the 


5- 


THE  FERMAT  A. 


post-horn.  I leaned  back  in  the  corner,  and  dwelt 
with  a good  deal  of  satisfaction  upon  the  crushing 
effect  of  the  bitter  scathing  letter  that  I had  left 
behind  for  them  in  the  hotel." 

With  evident  gratification  Theodore  tossed  off  the 
rest  of  the  fiery  Aleatico  1 that  Edward  had  poured  into 
his  glass.  The  latter,  opening  a new  flask  and  skilfully 
shaking  off  the  drops  of  oil 2 which  swam  at  the  top, 
remarked,  “ I should  not  have  deemed  Teresina  capa- 
ble of  such  falseness  and  artfulness.  I cannot  banish 
from  my  mind  the  recollection  of  what  a charming  fig- 
ure she  made  as  she  sat  on  horseback  singing  Spanish 
ballads,  whilst  the  horse  pranced  along  in  graceful  cur- 
vets.” “That  was  her  culminating  point,”  interrupted 
Theodore  ; “ I still  remember  the  strange  impression 
which  the  scene  made  upon  me.  I forgot  my  pain  ; she 
seemed  to  me  like  a creature  of  a higher  race.  It  is  in- 
deed very  true  that  such  moments  are  turning-points  in 
one’s  life,  and  that  in  them  many  images  arise  which 
time  does  not  avail  to  dim.  Whenever  I have  succeeded 
with  any  fine  romance,  it  has  always  been  when  Teresina’s 
image  has  stepped  forth  from  the  treasure-house  of  my 
mind  in  clear  bright  colours  at  the  moment  of  writing 
it.” 

“ But,”  said  Edward,  “ but  let  us  not  forget  the  artis- 
tic Lauretta  ; and,  scattering  all  rancour  to  the  winds, 
let  us  drink  to  the  health  of  the  tw’o  sisters.”  They 
did  so.  “ Oh,”  exclaimed  Theodore,  “ how  the  fragrant 
breezes  of  Italy  arise  out  of  this  wine  and  fan  my 
cheeks, — my  blood  rolls  with  quickened  energy  in  my 

1 A red,  aromatic,  sweet  Italian  wine,  made  chiefly  at  Florence. 

2 The  wine  was  presumably  in  flasks  of  the  usual  Italian  kind,  bot- 
tles encased  in  straw  or  reed,  &c.,  with  oil  on  the  top  of  the  wine  in- 
stead of  a cork  in  the  neck  of  the  bottle. 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


53 


veins.  Oh  ! why  must  I so  soon  leave  that  glorious 
land  again  !”  “As  yet,”  interrupted  Edward,  “as  yet 
in  all  that  you  have  told  me  I can  see  no  connection 
with  the  beautiful  picture,  and  so  I believe  that  you 
still  have  something  more  to  tell  me  about  the  sisters. 
Of  course  I perceive  plainly  that  the  ladies  in  the  pic- 
ture are  none  other  than  Lauretta  and  Teresina  them- 
selves.” “You  are  right,  they  are,”  replied  Theodore  ; 
“ and  my  ejaculations  and  sighs,  and  my  longings 
after  the  glorious  land  of  Italy,  will  form  a fitting  in- 
troduction to  what  I still  have  to  say.  A short  time 
ago,  perhaps  about  two  years  since,  just  before  leaving 
Rome,  I made  a little  excursion  on  horseback.  Before 
an  inn  stood  a charming  girl  ; the  idea  struck  me  how 
nice  it  would  be  to  receive  a cup  of  wine  at  the  hands 
of  the  pretty  child.  I pulled  up  before  the  door,  in  a 
walk  so  thickly  planted  on  each  side  with  shrubs  that 
the  sunlight  could  only  make  its  way  through  in 
patches.  In  the  distance  I heard  sounds  of  singing  and 
the  tinkling  of  a guitar.  I pricked  up  my  ears  and  lis- 
tened, for  the  two  female  voices  affected  me  somehow 
in  a singular  fashion  ; strangely  enough  dim  recollec- 
tions began  to  stir  within  my  mind,  but  they  refused  to 
take  definite  shape.  I dismounted  and  slowly  drew 
near  to  the  vine-clad  arbour  whence  the  music  seemed 
to  proceed,  eagerly  catching  up  every  sound  in  the  mean- 
time. The  second  voice  had  ceased  to  sing.  The  first 
sang  a canzonet  alone.  As  I came  nearer  and  nearer 
that  which  had  at  first  seemed  familiar  to  me,  and  which 
had  at  first  attracted  my  attention,  gradually  faded  away. 
The  singer  was  now  in  the  midst  of  a florid,  elaborate 
fermata.  Up  and  down  she  warbled,  up  and  down  ; 
at  length  she  stopped,  holding  a note  on  for  some  time. 
But  all  at  once  a female  voice  began  to  let  off  a torrent 
of  abuse,  maledictions,  curses,  vituperations  ! A man 


54 


THE  FERM  AT  A. 


protested  ; a second  laughed.  The  other  female  voice 
took  part  in  the  altercation.  The  quarrel  continued  to 
wax  louder  and  more  violent,  with  true  Italian  fury. 
At  length  I stood  immediately  in  front  of  the  arbour  ; 
an  abbot  rushes  out  and  almost  runs  over  me  ; he  turns 
his  head  to  look  at  me  ; I recognise  my  good  friend 
Signor  Lodovico,  my  musical  news-monger  from  Rome. 

‘ What  in  the  name  of  wonder  ’ I exclaim.  ‘ Oh, 

sir  ! sir  ! ’ he  screams,  ‘ save  me,  protect  me  from  this 
mad  fury,  from  this  crocodile,  this  tiger,  this  hyaena, 
this  devil  of  a woman.  Yes,  I did,  I did  ; I was  beating 
time  to  Anfossi’s  canzonet,  and  brought  down  my  baton 
too  soon  whilst  she  was  in  the  midst  of  the  fermata  ; I 
cut  short  her  trill  ; but  why  did  I meet  her  eyes,  the 
devilish  divinity  ! The  deuce  take  all  fermatas,  I say  ! ’ 
In  a most  curious  state  of  mind  I hastened  into  the  ar- 
bour along  with  the  priest,  and  recognised  at  the  first 
glance  the  sisters  Lauretta  and  Teresina.  The  former 
was  still  shrieking  and  raging,  and  her  sister  still  seri- 
ously remonstrating  with  her.  Mine  host,  his  bare  arms 
crossed  over  his  chest,  was  looking  on  laughing,  whilst 
a girl  was  placing  fresh  flasks  on  the  table.  No  sooner 
did  the  sisters  catch  sight  of  me  than  they  threw  them- 
selves upon  me  exclaiming,  ‘ Ah  ! Signor  Teodoro  ! ’ 
and  covered  me  with  caresses.  The  quarrel  was  for- 
gotten. ‘ Here  you  have  a composer,’  said  Lauretta  to 
the  abbot,  ‘ as  charming  as  an  Italian  and  as  strong  as 
a German.’  Both  sisters,  continually  interrupting  each 
other,  began  to  recount  the  happy  days  we  had  spent 
together,  to  speak  of  my  musical  abilities  whilst  still  a 
youth,  of  our  practisings  together,  of  the  excellence  of 
my  compositions  ; never  did  they  like  singing  anything 
else  but  what  I had  set.  Teresina  at  length  informed 
me  that  a manager  had  engaged  her  as  his  first  singer 
in  tragic  casts  for  the  next  carnival  ; but  she  would  give 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


55 


him  to  understand  that  she  would  only  sing  on  condition 
that  the  composition  of  at  least  one  tragic  opera  was 
intrusted  to  me.  The  tragic  was  above  all  others  my 
special  department,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  Lauretta  on 
her  part  maintained  that  it  would  be  a pity  if'  I did  not 
follow  my  bent  for  the  light  and  the  graceful,  in  a word, 
for  opera  buffa.  She  had  been  engaged  as  first  lady 
singer  for  this  species  of  composition  ; and  that  nobody 
but  I should  write  the  piece  in  which  she  was  to  appear 
was  simply  a matter  of  course.  You  may  fancy  what 
my  feelings  were  as  I stood  between  the  two.  In  a 
word,  you  perceive  that  the  company  which  I had  joined  ^ 
was  the  same  as  that  which  Hummel  painted,  and  that 
just  at  the  moment  when  the  priest  is  on  the  point  of 
cutting  short  Lauretta’s  fermata."  “ But  did  they  not 
make  any  allusion,”  asked  Edward,  “ to  your  departure 
from  them,  or  to  the  scathing  letter?”  “ Not  with  a 
single  syllable,”  answered  Theodore,  “ and  you  may  be 
sure  I didn’t,  for  I had  long  before  banished  all  ani- 
mosity from  my  heart,  and  come  to  look  back  upon  my 
adventure  with  the  sisters  as  a merry  prank.  I did, 
however,  so  far  revert  to  the  subject  that  I related  to 
the  priest  how  that,  several  years  before,  exactly  the 
same  sort  of  mischance  befell  me  in  one  of  Anfossi’s 
arias  as  had  just  befallen  him.  I painted  the  period  of 
my  connection  with  the  sisters  in  tragi-comical  colours, 
and,  distributing  many  a keen  side-blow,  I let  them  feel 
the  superiority,  which  the  ripe  experiences,  both  of  life 
and  of  art,  of  the  years  that  had  elapsed  in  the  interval 
had  given  me  over  them.  ‘ And  a good  thing  it  was,’ 

I concluded,  ‘ that  I did  cut  short  that  fermata,  for  it  was 
evidently  meant  to  last  through  eternity,  and  I am 
firmly  of  opinion  that  if  I had  left  the  singer  alone,  I 
should  be  sitting  at  the  piano  now.’  ‘ But,  signor,’  re- 
plied the  priest,  ‘ what  director  is  there  who  would 


5<5 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


dare  to  prescribe  laws  to  the  prima  donna  ? Your  of- 
fence was  much  more  heinous  than  mine,  you  in  the 
concert  hall,  and  I here  in  the  leafy  arbour.  Besides,  I 
was  only  director  in  imagination  ; nobody  need  attach 
any  importance  to  that,  and  if  the  sweet  fiery  glances 
of  these  heavenly  eyes  had  not  fascinated  me,  I should 
not  have  made  an  ass  of  myself.’  The  priest’s  last  words 
proved  tranquillising,  for,  although  Lauretta’s  eyes  had 
begun  to  flash  with  anger  as  the  priest  spoke,  before  he 
had  finished  she  was  quite  appeased. 

We  spent  the  evening  together.  Many  changes 
take  place  in  fourteen  years,  which  was  the  interval 
that  had  passed  since  I had  seen  my  fair  friends. 
Lauretta,  although  looking  somewhat  older,  was  still 
not  devoid  of  charms.  Teresinahad  worn  better,  with- 
out losing  her  graceful  form.  Both  were  dressed  in 
rather  gay  colours,  and  their  manners  were  just  the 
same  as  before,  that  is,  fourteen  years  younger  than  the 
ladies  themselves.  At  my  request  Teresina  sang  some 
of  the  serious  songs  that  had  once  so  deeply  affected 
me,  but  I fancied  that  they  sounded  differently  from 
what  they  did  when  I first  heard  them  ; and  Lauretta’s 
singing  too,  although  her  voice  had  not  appreciably 
lost  anything,  either  in  power  or  in  compass,  seemed  to 
me  to  be  quite  different  from  my  recollection  of  it  of 
former  times.  The  sisters’  behaviour  towards  me,  their 
feigned  ecstasies,  their  rude  admiration,  which,  how- 
ever, took  the  shape  of  gracious  patronage,  had  done 
much  to  put  me  in  a bad  humour,  and  now  the  obtru- 
siveness of  this  comparison  between  the  images  in  my 
mind  and  the  not  over  and  above  pleasing  reality, 
tended  to  put  me  in  a still  worse.  The  droll  priest, 
who  in  all  the  sweetest  words  you  can  imagine  was 
playing  the  amoroso  to  both  sisters  at  once,  as  well  as 
frequent  applications  to  the  good  wine,  at  length 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


57 


restored  me  to  good  humour,  so  that  we  spent  a very 
pleasant  evening  in  perfect  concord  and  gaiety.  The 
sisters  were  most  pressing  in  their  invitations  to  me  to 
go  home  with  them,  that  we  might  at  once  talk  over 
the  parts  which  I was  to  set  for  them  and  so  concert 
measures  accordingly.  I left  Rome  without  taking 
any  further  steps  to  find  out  their  place  of  abode.” 
“And  yet,  after  all,”  said  Edward,  “it  is  to  them 
that  you  owe  the  awakening  of  your  genius  for  music.” 


<>Ttrat  1 admltT’  replied  Theodore,  “ I owed  them  that 
and  a host  of  good  melodies  besides,  and  that  is  just 
the  reason  why  I did  not  want  to  see  them  again. 
Every  composer  can  recall  certain  impressions  which 
time  does  not  obliterate.  The  spirit  of  music  spake, 
and  his  voice  was  the  creative  word  which  suddenly 
awakened  the  kindred  spirit  slumbering  in  the  breast 
of  the  artist  ; then  the  latter  rose  like  a sun  which  can 
nevermore  set.  Thus  it  is  unquestionably  true  that  all 
melodies  which,  stirred  up  in  this  way,  proceed  from 
the  depths  of  the  composer’s  being,  seem  to  us  to  belong 
to  the  singer  alone  who  fanned  the  first  spark  within  us. 
We  hear  her  voice  and  record  only  what  she  has  sung. 
It  is,  however,  the  inheritance  of  us  weak  mortals  that, 
clinging  to  the  clods,  we  are  only  too  fain  to  draw 
down  what  is  above  the  earth  into  the  miserable  nar- 
rowness characteristic  of  things  of  the  earth.  Thus  it 
comes  to  pass  that  the  singer  becomes  our  lover — or 
even  our  wife.  The  spell  is  broken,  and  the  melody  of 
her  nature,  which  formerly  revealed  glorious  things,  is 
now  prostituted  to  complaints  about  broken  soup-plates 
or  ink-stains  in  new  linen.  Happy  is  the  composer 
who  never  again  so  long  as  he  lives  sets  eyes  upon  the 
woman  who  by  virtue  of  some  mysterious  power  en- 
kindled in  him  the  flame  of  music.  Even  though  the 
young  artist’s  heart  may  be  rent  by  pain  and  despair 


5« 


THE  FERM  ATA. 


when  the  moment  comes  for  parting  from  his  lovely 
enchantress,  nevertheless  her  form  will  continue  to  exist 
as  a divinely  beautiful  strain  which  lives  on  and  on  in 
the  pride  of  youth  and  beauty,  engendering  melodies 
in  which  time  after  time  he  perceives  the  lady  of  his 
love.  But  what  is  she  else  if  not  the  Highest  Ideal 
which,  working  its  way  from  within  outwards,  is  at 
length  reflected  in  the  external  independent  form  ? ” 

“ A strange  theory,  but  yet  plausible,”  was  Edward’s 
comment,  as  the  two  friends,  arm  in  arm,  passed  out 
from  Sala  Tarone’s  into  the  street. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA: 


I. 


The  celebrated  painter  Salvator  Rosa  comes  to  Rome,  and  is  attacked  by 
a dangerous  illness.  What  befalls  him  in  this  illness. 


ELEBRATED  people  commonly  have  many  ill 


things  said  of  them,  whether  well-founded  or  not. 
And  no  exception  was  made  in  the  case  of  that  admir- 
able painter  Salvator  Rosa,  whose  living  pictures  can- 
not fail  to  impart  a keen  and  characteristic  delight  to 
those  who  look  upon  them. 

At  the  time  that  Salvator’s  fame  was  ringing  through 
Naples,  Rome,  and  Tuscany — nay,  through  all  Italy, 
and  painters  who  were  desirous  of  gaining  applause 
were  striving  to  imitate  his  peculiar  and  unique  style, 
his  malicious  and  envious  rivals  were  laboring  to  spread 
abroad  all  sorts  of  evil  reports  intended  to  sully  with 
ugly  black  stains  the  glorious  splendor  of  his  artistic 
fame.  They  affirmed  that  he  had  at  a former  period  of 
his  life  belonged  to  a company  of  banditti,1 2  and  that  it 

1 This  tale  was  written  for  the  Leipsic  Taschenbuch  zum  geselligen 
Vergnügen  for  the  year  1820. 

2 Respecting  the  facts  of  Salvator  Rosa’s  life  there  exists  more  than 
one  disputed  statement ; and  of  these  perhaps  the  most  disputed  is  his 
share  of  complicity  (if  any)  in  the  evil  doings  of  Calabrian  banditti. 
Poor,  and  of  a wild  and  self-willed  disposition,  but  with  a strong  and 
independent  character,  he  was  unable  to  find  a suitable  master  in 


6o 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


was  to  his  experiences  during  this  lawless  time  that  he 
owed  all  the  wild,  fierce,  fantastically-attired  figures 
which  he  introduced  into  his  pictures,  just  as  the 
gloomy  fearful  wildernesses  of  his  landscapes — the  selve 
selvagge  (savage  woods) — to  use  Dante’s  expression, 
were  faithful  representations  of  the  haunts  where  they 
lay  hidden.  What  was  worse  still,  they  openly  charged 
him  with  having  been  concerned  in  the  atrocious  and 
bloody  revolt  which  had  been  set  on  foot  by  the  notori- 
ous Masaniello'  in  Naples.  They  even  described  the 
share  he  had  taken  in  it,  down  to  the  minutest  details. 

The  rumor  ran  that  Aniello  Falcone,* 1 2  the  painter  of 
battle-pieces,  one  of  the  best  of  Salvator’s  masters,  had 
been  stung  into  fury  and  filled  with  bloodthirsty  ven- 
geance because  the  Spanish  soldiers  had  slain  one  of 
his  relatives  in  a hand-to-hand  encounter.  Without  de- 


Naples,  so,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  he  set  out  to  study  the  lineaments 
of  nature  face  to  face,  and  spent  some  time  amidst  the  grand  and 
savage  scenery  of  Calabria.  Here  it  is  certain  that  he  came  into  con- 
tact with  the  banditti  who  haunted  those  wild  regions.  He  is  alleged 
to  have  been  taken  prisoner  by  a band,  and  to  have  become  a member 
of  the  troop.  Accepting  this  as  true,  we  may  perhaps  charitably  be- 
lieve that  he  was  prompted  not  so  much  by  a regard  for  his  own 
safety,  as  by  the  wish  to  secure  a rare  opportunity  for  studying  his  art 
unhindered,  and  also  charitably  hope  that  the  accusations  of  his  ene- 
mies, that  he  actively  participated  in  the  deeds  of  his  companions,  are 
unfounded,  or,  at  any  rate,  exaggerations.  It  may  be  remarked  that 
the  “Life  and  Times  of  Salvator  Rosa”  by  Lady  Morgan  (1824)  is 
admittedly  a romance  rather  than  an  accurate  and  faithful  biography. 

1 Masaniello,  a poor  fisherman  of  Naples,  was  for  a week  in  July, 
1647,  absolute  king  of  his  native  city.  At  that  time  Naples  was  sub- 
ject to  the  crown  of  Spain.  The  people,  provoked  by  the  exasperat- 
ing rapacity  and  extortion  of  the  Viceroy  of  the  King  of  Spain,  rose 
in  rebellion,  choosing  Masaniello  as  their  captain  and  leader. 

2 Aniello  Falcone  (1600-65),  teacher  of  Salvator  Rosa  and  founder 
of  the  Co/npagnia  della  Morte , painted  battle-pieces  which  bear  a high 
reputation.  His  works  are  said  to  be  scarce  and  much  sought  after. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


6 1 


lay  he  leagued  together  a band  of  daring  spirits,  mostly 
young  painters,  put  arms  into  their  hands,  and  gave 
them  the  name  of  the  “Company  of  Death.”  And  in 
truth  this  band  inspired  all  the  fear  and  consternation 
suggested  by  its  terrible  name.  At  all  hours  of  the  day 
they  traversed  the  streets  of  Naples  in  little  companies, 
and  cut  down  without  mercy  every  Spaniard  whom  they 
met.  They  did  more— they  forced  their  way  into  the 
holy  sanctuaries,  and  relentlessly  murdered  their  un- 
fortunate foes  whom  terror  had  driven  to  seek  refuge 
there.  At  night  they  gathered  round  their  chief,  the 
bloody-minded  madman  Masaniello,1  and  painted  him 
by  torchlight,  so  that  in  a short  time  there  were  hun- 
dreds of  these  little  pictures  2 circulating  in  Naples  and 
the  neighbourhood. 

This  is  the  ferocious  band  of  which  Salvator  Rosa 
was  alleged  to  have  been  a member,  working  hard  at 
butchering  his  fellow-men  by  day,  and  by  night  work- 
ing just  as  hard  at  painting.  The  truth  about  him  has 
however  been  stated  by  a celebrated  art-critic,  Taillas- 
son,3  I believe.  His  works  are  characterised  by  defiant 
originality,  and  by  fantastic  energy  both  of  conception 
and  of  execution.  He  delighted  to  study  Nature,  not 
in  the  lovely  attractiveness  of  green  meadows,  flourish- 
ing fields,  sweet-smelling  groves,  murmuring  springs, 
but  in  the  sublime  as  seen  in  towering  masses  of  rock, 

1 At  first  the  young  fisherman  administered  stern  but  impartial 
justice  ; but  afterwards  his  mind  seems  to  have  reeled  under  the 
intense  excitement  and  strain  of  his  position,  and  he  began  to  act 
the  part  of  an  arbitrary  and  cruel  tyrant.  Several  hundreds  of  per- 
sons are  said  to  have  been  put  to  death  by  his  order  during  the  few 
days  he  held  power. 

2 Amongst  them  more  than  one  by  Salvator  himself. 

3 A French  painter  and  writer  on  painting  ; was  born  near  Bor- 
deaux in  1746,  and  died  at  Paris  in  1809.  Besides  other  works  he 
wrote  Observations  sur  quelques  grands  peintres  (1807). 


Ö2 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


in  the  wild  sea-shore,  in  savage  inhospitable  forests  ; 
and  the  voices  that  he  loved  to  hear  were  not  the  whis- 
perings of  the  evening  breeze  or  the  musical  rustle  of 
leaves,  but  the  roaring  of  the  hurricane  and  the  thun- 
der of  the  cataract.  To  one  viewing  his  desolate  land- 
scapes, with  the  strange  savage  figures  stealthily  mov- 
ing about  in  them,  here  singly,  there  in  troops,  the  un- 
comfortable thoughts  arise  unbidden,  “ Here’s  where  a 
fearful  murder  took  place,  there’s  where  the  bloody 
corpse  was  hurled  into  the  ravine,”  etc. 

Admitting  all  this,  and  even  that  Taillasson  is  fur- 
ther right  when  he  maintains  that  Salvator’s  “Plato,” 
nay,  that  even  his  “Holy  St.  John  proclaiming  the  Ad- 
vent of  the  Saviour  in  the  Wilderness,”  look  just  a little 
like  highway  robbers — admitting  this,  I say,  it  is  never- 
theless unjust  to  argue  from  the  character  of  the  works 
to  the  character  of  the  artist  himself,  and  to  assume 
that  he,  who  represents  with  lifelike  fidelity  what  is 
savage  and  terrible,  must  himself  have  been  a savage, 
terrible  man.  He  who  prates  most  about  the  sword  is 
often  he  who  wields  it  the  worst  ; he  who  feels  in  the 
depths  of  his  soul  all  the  horrors  of  a bloody  deed,  so  that, 
taking  the  palette  or  the  pencil  or  the  pen  in  his  hand, 
he  is  able  to  give  living  form  to  his  feelings,  is  often  the 
one  least  capable  of  practising  similar  deeds.  Enough  ! 
I don’t  believe  a single  word  of  all  those  evil  reports, 
by  which  men  sought  to  brand  the  excellent  Salvator 
an  abandoned  murderer  and  robber,  and  I hope  that 
you,  kindly  reader,  will  share  my  opinion.  Otherwise, 
I see  grounds  for  fearing  that  you  might  perhaps  en- 
tertain some  doubts  respecting  what  I am  about  to  tell 
you  of  this  artist ; the  Salvator  I wish  to  put  before 
you  in  this  tale — that  is,  according  to  my  conception 
of  him — is  a man  bubbling  over  with  the  exuberance 
of  life  and  fiery  energy,  but  at  the  same  time  a man 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


63 

endowed  with  the  noblest  and  most  loyal  character — a 
character,  which,  like  that  of  all  men  who  think  and 
feel  deeply,  is  able  even  to  control  that  bitter  irony 
which  arises  from  a clear  view  of  the  significance  of 
life.  I need  scarcely  add  that  Salvator  was  no  less  re- 
nowned as  a poet  and  musician  than  as  a painter.  His 
genius  was  revealed  in  magnificent  refractions.  I re- 
peat again,  I do  not  believe  that  Salvator  had  any  share 
in  Masaniello’s  bloody  deeds  ; on  the  contrary,  I think 
it  was  the  horrors  of  that  fearful  time  which  drove  him 
from  Naples  to  Rome,  where  he  arrived  a poor  poverty- 
stricken  fugitive,  just  at  the  time  that  Masaniello  fell. 

Not  over  well  dressed,  and  with  a scanty  purse  con- 
taining not  more  than  a few  bright  sequins  1 in  his 
pocket,  he  crept  through  the  gate  just  after  nightfall. 
Somehow  or  other,  he  didn’t  exactly  know  how,  he 
wandered  as  far  as  the  Piazza  Navona.  In  better 
times  he  had  once  lived  there  in  a large  house  near 
the  Pamfili  Palace.  With  an  ill-tempered  growl,  he 
gazed  up  at  the  large  plate-glass  windows  glistening 
and  glimmering  in  the  moonlight.  “ Hm  ! ” he  ex- 
claimed peevishly,  “ it’ll  cost  me  dozens  of  yards  of 
coloured  canvas  before  I can  open  my  studio  up  there 
again.”  But  all  at  once  he  felt  as  if  paralysed  in  every 
limb,  and  at  the  same  moment  more  weak  and  feeble 
than  he  had  ever  felt  in  his  life  before.  “ But  shall  I,” 
he  murmured  between  his  teeth  as  he  sank  down  upon 
the  stone  steps  leading  up  to  the  house  door,  “ shall  I 
really  be  able  to  finish  canvas  enough  in  the  way  the 
fools  want  it  done  ? Hm  ! I have  a notion  that  that 
will  be  the  end  of  it ! ” 

A cold  cutting  night  wind  blew  down  the  street. 


1 The  sequin  was  a gold  coin  of  Venice  and  Tuscany,  worth  about 
gs.  3d.  It  is  sometimes  used  as  equivalent  to  ducat  (see  note  p.  98). 


64 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


Salvator  recognised  the  necessity  of  seeking  a shelter. 
Rising  with  difficulty,  he  staggered  on  into  the  Corso,' 
and  then  turned  into  the  Via  Bergognona.  At  length 
he  stopped  before  a little  house  with  only  a couple  of 
windows,  inhabited  by  a poor  widow  and  her  two 
daughters.  This  women  had  taken  him  in  for  little 
pay  the  first  time  he  came  to  Rome,  an  unknown 
stranger  noticed  of  nobody  ; and  so  he  hoped  again  to 
find  a lodging  with  her,  such  as  would  be  best  suited 
to  the  sad  condition  in  which  he  then  was. 

He  knocked  confidently  at  the  door,  and  several 
times  called  out  his  name  aloud.  At  last  he  heard  the 
old  woman  slowly  and  reluctantly  wakening  up  out  of 
her  sleep.  She  shuffled  to  the  window  in  her  slippers, 
and  began  to  rain  down  a shower  of  abuse  upon  the 
knave  who  was  come  to  worry  her  in  this  way  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  ; her  house  was  not  a wine-shop, 
&c.,  &c.  Then  there  ensued  a good  deal  of  cross- 
questioning before  she  recognised  her  former  lodger’s 
voice  ; but  on  Salvator’s  complaining  that  he  had  fled 
from  Naples  and  was  unable  to  find  a shelter  in  Rome, 
the  old  dame  cried,  “ By  all  the  blessed  saints  of 
Heaven ! Is  that  you,  Signor  Salvator  ? Well  now, 
your  little  room  up  above,  that  looks  on  to  the  court, 
is  still  standing  empty,  and  the  old  fig-tree  has  pushed 
its  branches  right  through  the  window  and  into  the 
room,  so  that  you  can  sit  and  work  like  as  if  you  was 
in  a beautiful  cool  arbour.  Ay,  and  how  pleased  my 
girls  will  be  that  you  have  come  back  again,  Signor 
Salvator.  But,  d'ye  know,  my  Margarita’s  grown  a big 
girl  and  fine-looking?  You  won’t  give  her  any  more 

1 The  Corso  is  a wide  thoroughfare  running  almost  north  and  south 
from  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  a square  on  the  north  side  of  Rome,  to  the 
centre  of  the  city.  It  is  in  the  Corso  that  the  horse-races  used  to  take 
place  during  the  Carnival. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


65 


rides  on  your  knee  now.  And — and  your  little  pussy, 
just  fancy,  three  months  ago  she  choked  herself  with  a 
fish-bone.  Ah  well,  we  all  shall  come  to  the  grave  at 
last.  But,  d’ye  know,  my  fat  neighbour,  who  you  so 
often  laughed  at  and  so  often  painted  in  such  funny 
ways — d’ye  know,  she  did  marry  that  young  fellow, 
Signor  Luigi,  after  all.  Ah  well ! nozze  e 7nagistrati  sono 
da  dio  destinati  (marriages  and  magistrates  are  made  in 
heaven)  they  say.” 

“But,”  cried  Salvator,  interrupting  the  old  woman, 
“but,  Signora  Caterina,  I entreat  you  by  the  blessed 
saints,  do,  pray,  let  me  in,  and  then  tell  me  all  about 
your  fig-tree  and  your  daughters,  your  cat  and  your 
fat  neighbour — I am  perishing  of  weariness  and  cold.” 

“Bless  me,  how  impatient  we  are,”  rejoined  the  old 
dame  ; “ Chi  va  piano  va  sano,  chi  va  presto  more  lesto 
(more  haste  less  speed,  take  things  cool  and  live  longer), 
I tell  you.  But  you  are  tired,  you  are  cold  ; where  are 
the  keys  ? quick  with  the  keys  ! ” 

But  the  old  woman  still  had  to  wake  up  her  daugh- 
ters and  kindle  a fire — but  oh  ! she  was  such  a long 
time  about  it— such  a long,  long  time.  At  last  she 
opened  the  door  and  let  poor  Salvator  in  ; but  scarcely 
had  he  crossed  the  threshold  than,  overcome  by  fatigue 
and  illness,  he  dropped  on  the  floor  as  if  dead.  Hap- 
pily the  widow’s  son,  who  generally  lived  at  Tivoli, 
chanced  to  be  at  his  mother’s  that  night.  He  was  at 
once  turned  out  of  his  bed  to  make  room  for  the  sick 
guest,  which  he  willingly  submitted  to. 

The  old  woman  was  very  fond  of  Salvator,  putting 
him,  as  far  as  his  artistic  powers  went,  above  all  the 
painters  in  the  world  ; and  in  everything  that  he  did 
she  also  took  the  greatest  pleasure.  She  was  therefore 
quite  beside  herself  to  see  him  in  this  lamentable  con- 
dition, and  wanted  to  run  off  to  the  neighbouring  monas- 


66 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


tery  to  fetch  her  father  confessor,  that  he  might  come 
and  fight  against  the  adverse  power  of  the  disease  with 
consecrated  candles  or  some  powerful  amulet  or  other. 
On  the  other  hand,  her  son  thought  it  would  be  almost 
better  to  see  about  getting  an  experienced  physician  at 
once,  and  off  he  ran  there  and  then  to  the  Spanish 
Square,  where  he  knew  the  distinguished  Doctor  Splen- 
diano  Accoramboni  dwelt.  No  sooner  did  the  doctor 
learn  that  the  painter  Salvator  Rosa  lay  ill  in  the  Via 
Bergognona  than  he  at  once  declared  himself  ready  to 
call  early  and  see  the  patient. 

Salvator  lay  unconscious,  struck  down  by  a most 
severe  attack  of  fever.  The  old  dame  had  hung  up 
two  or  three  pictures  of  saints  above  his  bed,  and  was 
praying  fervently.  The  gilds,  though  bathed  in  tears, 
exerted  themselves  from  time  to  time  to  get  the  sick 
man  to  swallow  a few  drops  of  the  cooling  lemonade 
which  they  had  made,  whilst  their  brother,  who  had 
taken  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  wiped  the  cold 
sweat  from  his  brow.  And  so  morning  found  them, 
when  with  a loud  creak  the  door  opened,  and  the  dis- 
tinguished Doctor  Splendiano  Accoramboni  entered  the 
room. 

If  Salvator  had  not  been  so  seriously  ill  that  the  two 
girls’  hearts  were  melted  in  grief,  they  would,  I think, 
for  they  were  in  general  frolicsome  and  saucy,  have 
enjoyed  a hearty  laugh  at  the  Doctor’s  extraordinary 
appearance,  instead  of  retiring  shyly,  as  they  did,  into 
the  corner,  greatly  alarmed.  It  will  indeed  be  worth 
while  to  describe  the  outward  appearance  of  the  little 
man  who  presented  himself  at  Dame  Caterina’s  in  the 
Via  Bergognona  in  the  grey  of  the  morning.  In  spite 
of  all  his  excellent  capabilities  for  growth,  Doctor 
Splendiano  Accoramboni  had  not  been  able  to  advance 
beyond  the  respectable  stature  of  four  feet.  Moreover, 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


6 7 


in  the  days  of  his  youth,  he  had  been  distinguished  for 
his  elegant  figure,  so  that,  before  his  head,  always  in- 
deed somewhat  ill-shaped,  and  his  big  cheeks,  and  his 
stately  double  chin  had  put  on  too  much  fat,  before  his 
nose  had  grown  bulky  and  spread  owing  to  overmuch 
indulgence  in  Spanish  snuff,  and  before  his  little  belly 
had  assumed  the  shape  of  a wine-tub  from  too  much 
fattening  on  macaroni,  the  priestly  cut  of  garments, 
which  he  at  that  time  had  affected,  had  suited  him  down 
to  the  ground.  He  was  then  in  truth  a pretty  little 
man,  and  accordingly  the  Roman  ladies  had  styled  him 
their  caro puppazetto  (sweet  little  pet). 

That  however  was  now  a thing  of  the  past.  A Ger- 
man painter,  seeing  Doctor  Splendiano  walking  across 
the  Spanish  Square,  said — and  he  was  perhaps  not  far 
wrong — that  it  looked  as  if  some  strapping  fellow  of 
six  feet  or  so  had  walked  away  from  his  own  head, 
which  had  fallen  on  the  shoulders  of  a little  marionette 
clown,  who  now  had  to  carry  it  about  as  his  own. 
This  curious  little  figure  walked  about  in  patchwork — 
an  immense  quantity  of  pieces  of  Venetian  damask  of 
a large  flower  pattern  that  had  been  cut  up  in  making 
a dressing-gown  ; high  up  round  his  waist  he  had 
buckled  a broad  leather  belt,  from  which  an  excessively 
long  rapier  hung  ; whilst  his  snow-white  wig  was  sur- 
mounted by  a high  conical  cap,  not  unlike  the  obelisk 
in  St.  Peter’s  Square.  Since  the  said  wig,  like  a piece 
of  texture  all  tumbled  and  tangled,  spread  out  thick 
and  wide  all  over  his  back,  it  might  very  well  be  taken 
for  the  cocoon  out  of  which  the  fine  silkworm  had 
crept. 

The  worthy  Splendiano  Accoramboni  stared  through 
his  big,  bright  spectacles,  with  his  eyes  wide  open,  first 
at  his  patient,  then  at  Dame  Caterina.  Calling  her 
aside,  he  croaked  with  bated  breath,  “There  lies  our 


68 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


talented  painter  Salvator  Rosa,  and  he’s  lost  if  my  skill 
doesn’t  save  him,  Dame  Caterina.  Pray  tell  me  when 
he  came  to  lodge  with  you  ? Did  he  bring  many  beau- 
tiful large  pictures  with  him  ?” 

“Ah!  my  dear  Doctor,”  replied  Dame  Caterina, 
“ the  poor  fellow  only  came  last  night.  And  as  for 
pictures — why,  I don’t  know  nothing  about  them  ; but 
there’s  a big  box  below,  and  Salvator  begged  me  to 
take  very  good  care  of  it,  before  he  became  senseless 
like  what  he  now  is.  I daresay  there’s  a fine  picture 
packed  in  it,  as  he  painted  in  Naples.” 

What  Dame  Caterina  said  was,  however,  a false- 
hood ; but  we  shall  soon  see  that  she  had  good  reasons 
for  imposing  upon  the  Doctor  in  this  way. 

“Good!  Very  good!”  said  the  Doctor,  simpering 
and  stroking  his  beard  ; then,  with  as  much  solemnity 
as  his  long  rapier,  which  kept  catching  in  all  the  chairs 
and  tables  he  came  near,  would  allow,  he  approached 
the  sick  man  and  felt  his  pulse,  snorting  and  wheezing, 
so  that  it  had  a most  curious  effect  in  the  midst  of  the 
reverential  silence  which  had  fallen  upon  all  the  rest. 
Then  he  ran  over  in  Greek  and  Latin  the  names  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty  diseases  that  Salvator  had  not, 
then  almost  as  many  which  he  might  have  had,  and 
concluded  by  saying  that  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
he  didn’t  recollect  the  name  of  his  disease,  but  that  he 
would  within  a short  time  find  a suitable  one  for  it, 
and  along  therewith,  the  proper  remedies  as  well. 
Then  he  took  his  departure  with  the  same  solemnity 
with  which  he  had  entered,  leaving  them  all  full  of 
trouble  and  anxiety. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  steps  the  Doctor  requested  to 
see  Salvator’s  box  ; Dame  Caterina  showed  him  one — 
in  which  were  two  or  three  of  her  deceased  husband’s 
cloaks  now  laid  aside,  and  some  old  worn-out  shoes. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


69 


The  Doctor  smilingly  tapped  the  box,  on  this  side 
and  on  that,  and  remarked  in  a tone  of  satisfaction 
“We  shall  see  ! we  shall  see!”  Some  hours  later  he 
returned  with  a very  beautiful  name  for  his  patient’s 
disease,  and  brought  with  him  some  big  bottles  of  an 
evil-smelling  potion,  which  he  directed  to  be  given  to 
the  patient  constantly.  This  was  a work  of  no  little 
trouble,  for  Salvator  showed  the  greatest  aversion  for 
— utter  loathing  of  the  stuff,  which  looked,  and  smelt, 
and  tasted,  as  if  it  had  been  concocted  from  Acheron 
itself.  Whether  it  was  that  the  disease,  since  it  had 
now  received  a name,  and  in  consequence  really  signi- 
fied something,  had  only  just  begun  to  put  forth  its 
virulence,  or  whether  it  was  that  Splendiano’s  potion 
made  too  much  of  a disturbance  inside  the  patient — it 
is  at  any  rate  certain  that  the  poor  painter  grew  weaker 
and  weaker  from  day  to  day,  from  hour  to  hour.  And 
notwithstanding  Doctor  Splendiano  Accoramboni’s  as- 
surance that,  after  the  vital  process  had  reached  a 
state  of  perfect  equilibrium,  he  would  give  it  a new 
start  like  the  pendulum  of  a clock,  they  were  all  very 
doubtful  as  to  Salvator’s  recovery,  and  thought  that 
the  Doctor  had  perhaps  already  given  the  pendulum 
such  a violent  start  that  the  mechanism  was  quite  im- 
paired. 

Now  it  happened  one  day  that  when  Salvator  seemed 
scarcely  able  to  move  a finger  he  was  suddenly  seized 
with  the  paroxysm  of  fever  ; in  a momentary  accession 
of  fictitious  strength  he  leapt  out  of  bed,  seized  the  full 
medicine  bottles,  and  hurled  them  fiercely  out  of  the 
window.  Just  at  this  moment  Doctor  Splendiano  Ac- 
coramboni  was  entering  the  house,  when  two  or  three 
bottles  came  bang  upon  his  head,  smashing  all  to 
pieces,  whilst  the  brown  liquid  ran  in  streams  all  down 
his  face,  and  wig,  and  ruff.  Hastily  rushing  into  the 


70 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


house,  he  screamed  like  a madman,  “ Signor  Salvator 
has  gone  out  of  his  mind,  he’s  become  insane  ; no  skill 
can  save  him  now,  he’ll  be  dead  in  ten  minutes.  Give 
me  the  picture,  Dame  Caterina,  give  me  the  picture — 
it’s  mine,  the  scanty  reward  of  all  my  trouble.  Give  me 
the  picture,  I say.” 

But  when  Dame  Caterina  opened  the  box,  and  Doc- 
tor Splendiano  saw  nothing  but  the  old  cloaks  and  torn 
shoes,  his  eyes  spun  round  in  his  head  like  a pair  of 
fire-wheels  ; he  gnashed  his  teeth  ; he  stamped  ; he  con- 
signed poor  Salvator,  the  widow,  and  all  the  family  to 
the  devil ; then  he  rushed  out  of  the  house  like  an  ar- 
row from  a bow,  or  as  if  he  had  been  shot  from  a can- 
non. 

After  the  violence  of  the  paroxysm  had  spent  itself, 
Salvator  again  relapsed  into  a death-like  condition. 
Dame  Caterina  was  fully  persuaded  that  his  end  was 
really  come,  and  away  she  sped  as  fast  as  she  could  to 
the  monastery,  to  fetch  Father  Boniface,  that  he  might 
come  and  administer  the  sacrament  to  the  dying  man. 
Father  Boniface  came  and  looked  at  the  sick  man  ; he 
said  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the  peculiar  signs 
which  approaching  death  is  wont  to  stamp  upon  the  hu- 
man countenance,  but  that  for  the  present  there  were 
no  indications  of  them  on  the  face  of  the  insensible 
Salvator.  Something  might  still  be  done,  and  he  would 
procure  help  at  once,  only  Doctor  Splendiano  Acco- 
ramboni  with  his  Greek  names  and  infernal  medicines 
was  not  to  be  allowed  to  cross  the  threshold  again.  The 
good  Father  set  out  at  once,  and  we  shall  see  later  that 
he  kept  his  word  about  sending  the  promised  help. 

Salvator  recovered  consciousness  again  ; he  fancied 
he  was  lying  in  a beautiful  flower-scented  arbour,  for 
green  boughs  and  leaves  were  interlacing  above  his 
head.  He  felt  a salutary  warmth  glowing  in  his  veins, 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


7i 


but  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  somehow  his  left  arm  was 
bound  fast.  “ Where  am  I ? ” he  asked  in  a faint  voice. 
Then  a handsome  young  man,  who  had  stood  at  his 
bedside,  but  whom  he  had  not  noticed  until  just  now, 
threw  himself  upon  his  knees,  and  grasping  Salvator’s 
right  hand,  kissed  it  and  bathed  it  with  tears,  as  he  cried 
again  and  again,  “ Oh  ! my  dear  sir ! my  noble  master  ! 
now  it’s  all  right  ; you  are  saved,  you’ll  get  better.” 

“ But  do  tell  me  ” — began  Salvator,  when  the  young 
man  begged  him  not  to  exert  himself,  for  he  was  too 
weak  to  talk  ; he  would  tell  him  all  that  had  happened. 
“You  see,  my  esteemed  and  excellent  sir,”  began  the 
young  man,  “ you  see,  you  were  very  ill  when  you  came 
from  Naples,  but  your  condition  was  not,  I warrant,  by 
any  means  so  dangerous  but  that  a few  simple  remedies 
would  soon  have  set  you,  with  your  strong  constitution, 
on  your  legs  again,  had  you  not  through  Carlos’s  well- 
intentioned  blunder  in  running  off  for  the  nearest  phy- 
sician fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  redoubtable  Pyramid 
Doctor,  who  was  making  all  preparations  for  bringing 
you  to  your  grave.” 

“ What  do  you  say  ? ” exclaimed  Salvator,  laughing 
heartily,  notwithstanding  the  feeble  state  he  was  in. 
“ What  do  you  say  ? — the  Pyramid  Doctor  ? Ay,  ay, 
although  I was  very  ill,  I saw  that  the  little  knave  in 
damask  patchwork,  who  comdemned  me  to  drink  his 
horrid,  loathsome  devil’s  brew,  wore  on  his  head  the 
obelisk  from  St.  Peter’s  Square — and  so  that’s  why  you 
call  him  the  Pyramid  Doctor?  ” 

“ Why,  good  heavens  ! ” said  the  young  man,  likewise 
laughing,  “ why,  Doctor  Splendiano  Accoramboni  must 
have  come  to  see  you  in  his  ominous  conical  nightcap  ; 
and,  do  you  know,  you  may  see  it  flashing  every  morn- 
ing from  his  window  in  the  Spanish  Square  like  a por- 
tentous meteor.  But  it’s  not  by  any  means  owing  to 


72 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


this  cap  that  he’s  called  the  Pyramid  Doctor ; for  that 
there’s  quite  another  reason.  Doctor  Splendiano  is  a 
great  lover  of  pictures,  and  possesses  in  truth  quite  a 
choice  collection,  which  he  has  gained  by  a practice  of 
a peculiar  nature.  With  eager  cunning  he  lies  in  wait 
for  painters  and  their  illnesses.  More  especially  he 
loves  to  get  foreign  artists  into  his  toils  ; let  them  but 
eat  an  ounce  or  two  of  macaroni  too  much,  or  drink  a 
glass  more  Syracuse  than  is  altogether  good  for  them, 
he  will  afflict  them  with  first  one  and  then  the  other 
disease,  designating  it  by  a formidable  name,  and  pro- 
ceeding at  once  to  cure  them  of  it.  He  generally  bar- 
gains for  a picture  as  the  price  of  his  attendance  ; and 
as  it  is  only  specially  obstinate  constitutions  which  are 
able  to  withstand  his  powerful  remedies,  it  generally 
happens  that  he  gets  his  picture  out  of  the  chattels  left 
by  the  poor  foreigner,  who  meanwhile  has  been  carried 
to  the  Pyramid  of  Cestius,  and  buried  there.  It  need 
hardly  be  said  that  Signor  Splendiano  always  picks  out 
the  best  of  the  pictures  the  painter  has  finished,  and 
also  does  not  forget  to  bid  the  men  take  several  others 
along  with  it.  The  cemetery  near  the  Pyramid  of 
Cestius  is  Doctor  Splendiano  Accoramboni’s  corn-field, 
which  he  diligently  cultivates,  and  for  that  reason  he 
is  called  the  Pyramid  Doctor.  Dame  Caterina  had 
taken  great  pains,  of  course  with  the  best  intentions, 
to  make  the  Doctor  believe  that  you  had  brought  a fine 
picture  with  you  ; you  may  imagine  therefore  with 
what  eagerness  he  concocted  his  potions  for  you.  It 
was  a fortunate  thing  that  in  the  paroxysm  of  fever  you 
threw  the  Doctor’s  bottles  at  his  head,  it  was  also  a 
fortunate  thing  that  he  left  you  in  anger,  and  no  less 
fortunate  was  it  that  Dame  Caterina,  who  believed  you 
were  in  the  agonies  of  death,  fetched  Father  Boniface 
to  come  and  administer  to  you  the  sacrament.  Father 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


73 


Boniface  understands  something  of  the  art  of  healing  ; 
he  formed  a correct  diagnosis  of  your  condition  and 
fetched  me  ” 

“ Then  you  also  are  a doctor  ? ” asked  Salvator  in  a 
faint  whining  tone. 

“ No,”  replied  the  young  man,  a deep  blush  mantling 
his  cheeks,  “ no,  my  estimable  and  worthy  sir,  I am  not 
in  the  least  a doctor  like  Signor  Splendiano  Accoram- 
boni  ; I am  however  a chirurgeon.  I felt  as  if  I should 
sink  into  the  earth  with  fear — with  joy — when  Father 
Boniface  came  and  told  me  that  Salvator  Rosa  lay  sick 
unto  death  in  the  Via  Bergognona,  and  required  my 
help.  I hastened  here,  opened  a vein  in  your  left  arm, 
and  you  were  saved.  Then  we  brought  you  up  into 
this  cool  airy  room  that  you  formerly  occupied.  Look, 
there’s  the  easel  which  you  left  behind  you  ; yonder 
are  a few  sketches  which  Dame  Caterina  has  treasured 
up  as  if  they  were  relics.  The  virulence  of  your  dis- 
ease is  subdued  ; simple  remedies  such  as  Father  Bon- 
iface can  prepare  is  all  that  you  want,  except  good 
nursing,  to  bring  back  your  strength  again.  And  now 
permit  me  once  more  to  kiss  this  hand — this  creative 
hand  that  charms  from  Nature  her  deepest  secrets  and 
clothes  them  in  living  form.  Permit  poor  Antonio 
Scacciati  to  pour  out  all  the  gratitude  and  immeasu- 
rable joy  of  his  heart  that  Heaven  has  granted  him  to 
save  the  life  of  our  great  and  noble  painter,  Salvator 
Rosa.”  Therewith  the  young  surgeon  threw  himself 
on  his  knees  again,  and,  seizing  Salvator’s  hand,  kissed 
it  and  bathed  it  in  tears  as  before. 

“ I don’t  understand,”  said  the  artist,  raising  him- 
self up  a little,  though  with  considerable  difficulty, 
“ I don’t  understand,  my  dear  Antonio,  what  it  is  that 
is  so  especially  urging  you  to  show  me  all  this  re- 
spect. You  are,  you  say,  a chirurgeon,  and  we  don’t 


74 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


in  a general  way  find  this  trade  going  hand  in  hand 
with  art ” 

“As  soon,”  replied  the  young  man,  casting  down  his 
eyes,  “as  soon  as  you  have  picked  up  your  strength 
again,  my  dear  sir,  I have  a good  deal  to  tell  you  that 
now  lies  heavy  on  my  heart.” 

“ Do  so,”  said  Salvator  ; “ you  may  have  every  con- 
fidence in  me — that  you  may,  for  I don’t  know  that 
any  man’s  face  has  made  a more  direct  appeal  to  my 
heart  than  yours.  The  more  I look  at  you  the  more 
plainly  I seem  to  trace  in  your  features  a resemblance 
to  that  incomparable  young  painter — I mean  Sanzio.”  1 
Antonio’s  eyes  were  lit  up  with  a proud,  radiant  light 
— he  vainly  struggled  for  words  with  which  to  express 
his  feelings. 

At  this  moment  Dame  Caterina  appeared,  followed 
by  Father  Boniface,  who  brought  Salvator  a medicine 
which  he  had  mixed  scientifically  according  to  pre- 
scription, and  which  the  patient  swallowed  with  more 
relish  and  felt  to  have  a more  beneficial  effect  upon  him 
than  the  Acheronian  waters  of  the  Pyramid  Doctor 
Splendiano  Accoramboni. 


II. 

By  Salvator  Rosa's  intervention  Antonio  Scacciati  attains  to  a high 
honour.  Antonio  discloses  the  cause  of  his  persistent  trouble  to 
Salvator , who  consoles  him  and  promises  to  help  him. 

And  Antonio’s  words  proved  true.  The  simple  but 
salutary  remedies  of  Father  Boniface,  the  careful  nurs- 
ing of  good  Dame  Caterina  and  her  daughters,  the 
warmer  weather  which  now  came — all  co-operated  so 


The  great  painter  Sanzio  Raphael. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


75 


well  together  with  Salvator’s  naturally  robust  constitu- 
tion that  he  soon  felt  sufficiently  well  to  think  about 
work  again  ; first  of  all  he  designed  a few  sketches  which 
he  thought  of  working  out  afterwards. 

Antonio  scarcely  ever  left  Salvator’s  room  ; he  was 
all  eyes  when  the  painter  drew  out  his  sketches  ; whilst 
his  judgment  in  respect  to  many  points  showed  that  he 
must  have  been  initiated  into  the  secrets  of  art. 

“ See  here,”  said  Salvator  to  him  one  day,  “see  here, 
Antonio,  you  understand  art  matters  so  well  that  I 
believe  you  have  not  merely  cultivated  your  excellent 
judgment  as  a critic,  but  must  have  wielded  the  brush 
as  well.” 

“You  will  remember,”  rejoined  Antonio,  “how  I 
told  you,  my  dear  sir,  when  you  were  just  about  com- 
ing to  yourself  again  after  your  long  unconsciousness, 
that  I had  several  things  to  tell  you  which  lay  heavy 
on  my  mind.  Now  is  the  time  for  me  to  unfold  all 
my  heart  to  you.  You  must  know  then,  that  though 
I am  called  Antonio  Scacciati,  the  chirurgeon,  who 
opened  the  vein  in  your  arm  for  you,  I belong  also  en- 
tirely to  art — to  the  art  to  which,  after  bidding  eternal 
farewell  to  my  hateful  trade,  I intend  to  devote  myself 
for  once  and  for  all.” 

“ Ho  ! ho  ! ” exclaimed  Salvator,  “ Ho  ! ho  ! Anto- 
nio, weigh  well  what  you  are  about  to  do.  You  are  a 
clever  chirurgeon,  and  perhaps  will  never  be  anything 
more  than  a bungling  painter  all  your  life  long  ; for, 
with  your  permission,  as  young  as  you  are,  you  are 
decidedly  too  old  to  begin  to  use  the  charcoal  now. 
Believe  me,  a man’s  whole  lifetime  is  scarce  long 
enough  to  acquire  a knowledge  of  the  True — still  less 
the  practical  ability  to  represent  it.” 

“Ah!  but,  my  dear  sir,”  replied  Antonio,  smiling 
blandly,  “ don’t  imagine  that  I should  now  have  come 


76 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


to  entertain  the  foolish  idea  of  taking  up  the  difficult 
art  of  painting  had  I not  practised  it  already  on  ever)' 
possible  occasion  from  my  very  childhood.  In  spite  of 
the  fact  that  my  father  obstinately  kept  me  away  from 
everything  connected  with  art,  yet  Heaven  was  gra- 
ciously pleased  to  throw  me  in  the  way  of  some  celebra- 
ted artists.  I must  tell  you  that  the  great  Annibal 1 * * * in- 
terested himself  in  the  orphan  boy,  and  also  that  I may 
with  justice  call  myself  Guido  Reni’s5  pupil.” 

“Well  then,”  said  Salvator  somewhat  sharply,  a 
way  of  speaking  he  sometimes  had,  “well  then,  my 
good  Antonio,  you  have  indeed  had  great  masters,  and 
so  it  cannot  fail  but  that,  without  detriment  to  your 
surgical  practice,  you  must  have  been  a great  pupil. 
Only  I don’t  understand  how  you,  a faithful  disciple 
of  the  gentle,  elegant  Guido,  whom  you  perhaps  outdo 
in  elegance  in  your  own  pictures — for  pupils  do  do 
those  sort  of  things  in  their  enthusiasm — how  you  can 
find  any  pleasure  in  my  productions,  and  can  really 
regard  me  as  a master  in  the  Art.” 

At  these  words,  which  indeed  sounded  a good  deal 
like  derisive  mockery,  the  hot  blood  rushed  into  the 
young  man’s  face. 


1 Annabale  Caracci,  a painter  of  Bologna  of  the  latter  half  of  the  six- 
teenth century.  His  most  celebrated  work  is  a series  of  frescoes  on 
mythological  subjects  in  the  Famese  Palace  at  Rome.  Along  with  his 
cousin  Lodovico  and  his  brother  Agostino  he  founded  the  so-called 
Eclectic  School  of  Painting  ; their  maxim  was  that  “accurate  observa- 
tion of  Nature  should  be  combined  with  judicious  imitation  of  the  best 
masters.”  The  Caracci  enjoyed  the  highest  reputation  amongst  their 
contemporaries  as  teachers  of  their  art.  Annibale  died  in  1609  ; 

Masaniello’s  revolt  occurred,  as  already  mentioned,  in  1647  ; Antonio 

must  therefore  have  been  at  least  fifty  years  of  age.  This  however  is 
not  the  only  anachronism  that  Hoffmann  is  guilty  of. 

! The  well-known  painter  Guido,  born  in  1575  and  died  in  1642. 

He  early  excited  the  envy  of  Annibale  Caracci. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


77 


“ Oh,  let  me  lay  aside  all  (the  diffidence  which  gen- 
erally keeps  my  lips  closed,”  he  said,  “and  let  me 
frankly  lay  bare  the  thoughts  I have  in  my  mind.  I 
tell  you,  Salvator,  I have  never  honoured  any  master 
from  the  depths  of  my  soul  as  I do  you.  What  I am 
amazed  at  in  your  works  is  the  sublime  greatness 
of  conception  which  is  often  revealed.  You  grasp 
the  deepest  secrets  of  Nature  : you  comprehend  the 
mysterious  hieroglyphics  of  her  rocks,  of  her  trees, 
and  of  her  waterfalls,  you  hear  her  sacred  voice,  you 
understand  her  language,  and  possess  the  power  to 
write  down  what  she  has  said  to  you.  Verily  I can 
call  your  bold  free  style  of  painting  nothing  else  than 
writing  down.  Man  alone  and  his  doings  does  not 
suffice  you  ; you  behold  him  only  in  the  midst  of 
Nature,  and  in  so  far  as  his  essential  character  is  con- 
ditioned by  natural  phenomena ; and  in  these  facts  I 
see  the  reason  why  you  are  only  truly  great  in  land- 
scapes, Salvator,  with  their  wonderful  figures.  His- 
torical painting  confines  you  within  limits  which  clog 
your  imagination  to  the  detriment  of  your  genius  for 
reproducing  your  higher  intuitions  of  Nature.” 

“That’s  talk  you’ve  picked  up  from  envious  histori- 
cal painters,”  said  Salvator,  interrupting  his  young 
companion;  “like  them,  Antonio,  you  throw  me  the 
choice  bone  of  landscape-painting  that  I may  gnaw 
away  at  it,  and  so  spare  their  own  good  flesh.  Per- 
haps I do  understand  the  human  figure  and  all  that  is 
dependent  upon  it.  But  this  senseless  repetition  of 
others’  words  ” 

“ Don’t  be  angry,”  continued  Antonio,  “ don’t  be 
angry,  my  good  sir  ; I am  not  blindly  repeating  any- 
body’s words,  and  I should  not  for  a moment  think  of 
trusting  to  the  judgment  of  our  painters  here  in  Rome 
at  any  rate.  Who  can  help  greatly  admiring  the  bold 


78 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


draughtsmanship,  the  powerful  expression,  but  above 
all  the  living  movement  of  your  fingers  ? It's  plain  to 
see  that  you  don’t  work  from  a stiff,  inflexible  model, 
or  even  from  a dead  skeleton  form  ; it  is  evident  that 
you  yourself  are  your  own  breathing,  living  model,  and 
that  when  you  sketch  or  paint,  you  have  the  figure  you 
want  to  put  on  your  canvas  reflected  in  a great  mirror 
opposite  to  you.” 

“ The  devil  ! Antonio,”  exclaimed  Salvator,  laughing, 
“ I believe  you  must  often  have  had  a peep  into  my 
studio  when  I was  not  aware  of  it,  since  you  have  such 
an  accurate  knowledge  of  what  goes  on  within.” 

“ Perhaps  I may,”  replied  Antonio  ; “ but  let  me  go 
on.  I am  not  by  a long  way  so  anxious  to  classify  the 
pictures  which  your  powerful  mind  suggests  to  you  as 
are  those  pedantic  critics  who  take  such  great  pains  in 
this  line.  In  fact,  I think  that  the  word  ‘landscape,’ 
as  generally  employed,  has  but  an  indifferent  applica- 
tion to  your  productions  ; I should  prefer  to  call  them 
historical  representations  in  the  highest  sense  of  the 
word.  If  we  fancy  that  this  or  the  other  rock  or  this 
or  the  other  tree  is  gazing  at  us  like  a gigantic  being 
with  thoughtful  earnest  eyes,  so  again,  on  the  other 
hand,  this  or  the  other  group  of  fantastically  attired 
men  resembles  some  remarkable  stone  which  has  been 
endowed  with  life  ; all  Nature,  breathing  and  moving 
in  harmonious  unity,  lends  accents  to  the  sublime 
thought  which  leapt  into  existence  in  your  mind.  This 
is  the  spirit  in  which  I have  studied  your  pictures,  and 
so  in  this  way  it  is,  my  grand  and  noble  master,  that  I 
owe  to  you  my  truer  perceptions  in  matters  of  art. 
But  pray  don’t  imagine  that  I have  fallen  into  childish 
imitation.  However  much  I would  like  to  possess  the 
free  bold  pencil  that  you  possess,  I do  not  attempt  to 
conceal  the  fact  that  Nature’s  colours  appear  to  me 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


79 


different  from  what  I see  them  in  your  pictures.  Al- 
though it  is  useful,  I think,  for  the  sake  of  acquiring 
technique,  for  the  pupil  to  imitate  the  style  of  this  or 
that  master,  yet,  so  soon  as  he  comes  to  stand  in  any 
sense  on  his  own  feet,  he  ought  to  aim  at  representing 
Nature  as  he  himself  sees  her.  Nothing  but  this  true 
method  of  perception,  this  unity  with  oneself,  can  give 
rise  to  character  and  truth.  Guido  shared  these  senti- 
ments ; and  that  fiery  man  Preti,1  who,  as  you  are 
aware,  is  called  II  Calabrese — a painter  who  certainly, 
more  than  any  other  man,  has  reflected  upon  his  art — 
also  warned  me  against  all  imitation.  Now  you  know, 
Salvator,  why  I so  much  respect  you,  without  imitat- 
ing you.” 

Whilst  the  young  man  had  been  speaking,  Salvator 
had  kept  his  eyes  fixed  unchangeably  upon  him  ; he 
now  clasped  him  tumultuously  to  his  heart. 

“Antonio,”  he  then  said,  “what  you  have  just  now 
said  are  wise  and  thoughtful  words.  Young  as  you  are, 
you  are  nevertheless,  so  far  as  the  true  perception  of 
art  is  concerned,  a long  way  ahead  of  many  of  our  old 
and  much  vaunted  masters,  who  have  a good  deal  of 
stupid  foolish  twaddle  about  their  painting,  but  never 
get  at  the  true  root  of  the  matter.  Body  alive,  man  ! 
When  you  were  talking  about  my  pictures,  I then  be- 
gan to  understand  myself  for  the  first  time,  I believe  ; 
and  because  you  do  not  imitate  my  style, — do  not,  like 
a good  many  others,  take  a tube  of  black  paint  in  your 
hand,  or  dab  on  a few  glaring  colours,  or  even  make 
two  or  three  crippled  figures  with  repulsive  faces  look 

1 Mattia  Preti,  known  as  II  Cavaliere  Calabrese,  from  his  having  been 
born  in  Calabria.  He  was  a paintenof  the  Neapolitan  school  and  a 
pupil  of  Lanfranco,  and  lived  during  the  greater  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  Owing  to  his  many  disputes  and  quarrels  he  was  more  than 
once  compelled  to  flee  for  his  life. 


8o 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


up  from  the  midst  of  filth  and  dirt,  and  then  say, 
‘There’s  a Salvator  for  you!’ — just  for  these  very 
reasons  I think  a good  deal  of  you.  I tell  you,  my  lad, 
you’ll  not  find  a more  faithful  friend  than  I am — that  I 
can  promise  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul.” 

Antonio  was  beside  himself  with  joy  at  the  kind 
way  in  which  the  great  painter  thus  testified  to  his 
interest  in  him.  Salvator  expressed  an  earnest  desire 
to  see  his  pictures.  Antonio  took  him  there  and  then 
to  his  studio. 

Salvator  had  in  truth  expected  to  find  something 
fairly  good  from  the  young  man  who  spoke  so  intelli- 
gently about  art,  and  who,  it  appeared,  had  a good 
deal  in  him  ; but  nevertheless  he  was  greatly  surprised 
at  the  sight  of  Antonio’s  fine  pictures.  Everywhere 
he  found  boldness  in  conception,  and  correctness  in 
drawing  ; and  the  freshness  of  the  colouring,  the  good 
taste  in  the  arrangement  of  the  drapery,  the  uncommon 
delicacy  of  the  extremities,  the  exquisite  grace  of  the 
heads,  were  all  so  many  evidences  that  he  was  no  un- 
worthy pupil  of  the  great  Reni.  But  Antonio  had 
avoided  this  master’s  besetting  sin  of  an  endeavour, 
only  too  conspicuous,  to  sacrifice  expression  to  beauty. 
It  was  plain  that  Antonio  was  aiming  to  reach  Anni- 
bal’s  strength,  without  having  as  yet  succeeded. 

Salvator  spent  some  considerable  time  of  thoughtful 
silence  in  the  examination  of  each  of  the  pictures. 
Then  he  said,  “ Listen,  Antonio  : it  is  indeed  undeni- 
able that  you  were  born  to  follow  the  noble  art  of  paint- 
ing. For  not  only  has  Nature  endowed  you  with  the 
creative  spirit  from  which  the  finest  thoughts  pour  forth 
in  an  inexhaustible  stream,  but  she  has  also  granted 
you  the  rare  ability  to  surmount  in  a short  space  of 
time  the  difficulties  of  technique.  It  would  only  be 
false  flattery  if  I were  to  tell  you  that  you  had  yet  ad- 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


81 


vanced  to  the  level  of  your  masters,  that  you  are  yet 
equal  to  Guido’s  exquisite  grace  or  to  Annibal’s 
strength  ; but  certain  I am  that  you  excel  by  a long 
way  all  the  painters  who  hold  up  their  heads  so  proudly 
in  the  Academy  of  St  Luke 1 here — Tiarini,2 *  Gessi,’ 
Sementa,4 *  and  all  the  rest  of  them,  not  even  excepting 
Lanfranco6  himself,  for  he  only  understands  fresco- 
painting. And  yet,  Antonio,  and  yet,  if  I were  in  your 
place,  I should  deliberate  awhile  before  throwing  away 
the  lancet  altogether,  and  confining  myself  entirely  to 
the  pencil.  That  sounds  rather  strange,  but  listen  to 
me.  Art  seems  to  be  having  a bad  time  of  it  just  now, 
or  rather  the  devil  seems  to  be  very  busy  amongst  our 
painters  now-a-days,  bravely  setting  them  together  by 
the  ears.  If  you  cannot  make  up  your  mind  to  put  up 
with  all  sorts  of  annoyances,  to  endure  more  and  more 
scorn  and  contumely  in  proportion  as  you  advance  in 
art,  and  as  your  fame  spreads  to  meet  with  malicious 
scoundrels  everywhere,  who  with  a friendly  face  will 
force  themselves  upon  you  in  order  to  ruin  you  the 
more  surely  afterwards, — if  you  cannot,  I say,  make 
up  your  mind  to  endure  all  this — let  painting  alone. 
Think  of  the  fate  of  your  teacher,  the  great  Annibal, 
whom  a rascally  band  of  rivals  malignantly  persecuted 
in  Naples,  so  that  he  did  not  receive  one  single  com- 


1 The  Accademia  di  San  Luca,  a school  of  art,  founded  at  Rome 
about  1595,  Federigo  Zuccaro  being  its  first  director. 

2 Alessandro  Tiarini  (1577-1668)  of  Bologna,  was  a pupil  of  the 
Caracci. 

’Giovanni  Francesco  Gessi  (1588-1649),  sometimes  called  “The 
second  Guido,”  was  a pupil  of  Guido. 

4 Sementi  or  Semenza  (1580-1638),  also  a pupil  of  Guido. 

6 Giovanni  Lanfranco  (1581-1647),  studied  first  under  Agostino 

Caracci.  He  was  the  first  to  encourage  the  early  genius  of  Salvator 
Rosa. 


82 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


mission  for  a great  work,  being  everywhere  rejected 
with  contempt;  and  this  is  said  to  have  been  instru- 
mental in  bringing  about  his  early  death.  Think  of 
what  happened  to  Domenichino1  when  he  was  painting 
the  dome  of  the  chapel  of  St.  Januarius.  Didn’t  the 
villains  of  painters — I won’t  mention  a single  name, 
not  even  the  rascals  Belisario 2 and  Ribera 3 — didn’t 
they  bribe  Domenichino’s  servant  to  strew  ashes  in  the 

1 Zampieri  Domenichino  (1581-1641)  was  a pupil  of  the  Caracci. 
The  work  here  referred  to  is  a series  of  frescoes,  which  he  did  not 
live  to  quite  finish,  representing  the  events  of  the  life  of  St.  Januarius, 
in  the  chapel  of  the  Tesoro  of  the  cathedral  at  Naples,  which  he  began 
in  1630. 

The  malicious  spite  which  the  text  attributes  to  the  rivals  of  Do- 
menichino is  not  at  all  exaggerated.  There  did  really  exist  a so-called 
“ Cabal  of  Naples,”  consisting  chiefly  of  the  painters  Corenzio,  Ribera, 
and  Caracciolo,  who  leagued  together  to  shut  out  all  competition  from 
other  artists  ; and  their  persecution  of  the  Bolognese  Domenichino 
is  well  known.  Often  on  returning  to  his  work  in  the  morning  he 
found  that  some  one  had  obliterated  what  he  had  done  on  the  pre- 
vious day. 

Not  only  have  we  a faithful  picture  of  the  Italian  artist’s  life  in  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth  century  depicted  in  this  tale,  but  the  actual 
facts  of  the  lives  of  Salvator  Rosa,  of  Preti,  of  the  Caracci,  as  well  as 
the  existence  of  Falcone’s  Compagnia  della  Morte,  furnish  ample  mate- 
rials and  illustrations  of  the  wild  lives  they  did  lead,  of  their  jealousies 
and  heartburnings,  of  their  quarrelsomeness  and  revengefulness.  They 
seem  to  have  been  ready  on  all  occasions  to  exchange  the  brush  for  the 
sword.  They  were  filled  to  overflowing  with  restless  energy.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  age  they  lived  in  was  highly  charged  with  vigour  of 
thought  and  an  irrepressible  vitality  for  artistic  production.  Under  the 
conditions  which  these  things  suppose  the  artists  of  that  age  could  not 
well  have  been  otherwise  than  what  they  were. 

* Belisario  Corenzio,  a Greek  (1558-1643).  “ Envious,  jealous, 

cunning,  treacherous,  quarrelsome,  he  looked  upon  all  other  painters 
as  his  enemies.” 

3 Giuseppe  Ribera,  called  II  Spagnoletto,  a Spaniard  by  birth  (1589), 
was  a painter  of  the  Neapolitan  school,  and  delighted  in  horrible  and 
gloomy  subjects.  He  died  in  1656. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


83 


lime  ? So  the  plaster  wouldn’t  stick  fast  on  the  walls, 
and  the  painting  had  no  stability.  Think  of  all  that, 
and  examine  yourself  well  whether  your  spirit  is  strong 
enough  to  endure  things  like  that,  for  if  not,  your 
artistic  power  will  be  broken,  and  along  with  the  reso- 
lute courage  for  work  you  will  also  lose  your  ability.” 

“ But,  Salvator,”  replied  Antonio,  “ it  would  hardly 
be  possible  for  me  to  have  more  scorn  and  contumely 
to  endure,  supposing  I took  up  painting  entirely  and 
exclusively,  then  I have  already  endured  whilst  merely 
a chirurgeon.  You  have  been  pleased  with  my  pict- 
ures, you  have  indeed  ! and  at  the  same  time  declared 
from  inner  conviction  that  I am  capable  of  doing  better 
things  than  several  of  our  painters  of  the  Academy. 
But  these  are  just  the  men  who  turn  up  their  noses  at 
all  that  I have  industriously  produced,  and  say  con- 
temptuously, ‘ Do  look,  here’s  our  chirurgeon  wants  to 
be  a painter  ! ’ And  for  this  very  reason  my  resolve  is 
only  the  more  unshaken  ; I will  sever  myself  from  a 
trade  that  grows  with  every  day  more  hateful.  Upon 
you,  my  honoured  master,  I now  stake  all  my  hopes. 
Your  word  is  powerful  ; if  you  would  speak  a good 
word  for  me,  you  might  overthrow  my  envious  persecu- 
tors at  a single  blow,  and  put  me  in  the  place  where  I 
ought  to  be.” 

“You  repose  great  confidence  in  me,”  rejoined  Sal- 
vator. “ But  now  that  we  thoroughly  understand 
each  other’s  views  on  painting,  and  I have  seen  your 
works,  I don’t  really  know  that  there  is  anybody  for 
whom  I would  rather  take  up  the  cudgels  than  for 
you.” 

Salvator  once  more  inspected  Antonio’s  pictures,  and 
stopped  before  one  representing  a “ Magdalene  at  the 
Saviour’s  feet,”  which  he  especially  praised. 

“ In  this  Magdalene,”  he  said,  “ you  have  deviated 


84 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


from  the  usual  mode  of  representation.  Your  Magda- 
lene is  not  a thoughtful  virgin,  but  a lovely  artless 
child  rather,  and  yet  she  is  such  a marvellous  child  that 
hardly  anybody  else  but  Guido  could  have  painted  her. 
There  is  a unique  charm  in  her  dainty  figure  ; you 
must  have  painted  with  inspiration  ; and,  if  I mistake 
not,  the  original  of  this  Magdalene  is  alive  and  to  be 
found  in  Rome.  Come,  confess,  Antonio,  you  are  in 
love  ! ” 

Antonio’s  eyes  sought  the  ground,  whilst  he  said  in 
a low  shy  voice,  “ Nothing  escapes  your  penetration, 
my  dear  sir  ; perhaps  it  is  as  you  say,  but  do  not  blame 
me  for  it.  That  picture  I set  the  highest  store  by,  and 
hitherto  I have  guarded  it  as  a holy  secret  from  all 
men’s  eyes.” 

“What  do  you  say  ?”  interrupted  Salvator.  “None 
of  the  painters  here  have  seen  your  picture  ? ” 

“No,  not  one,”  was  Antonio’s  reply. 

“All  right  then,  Antonio,”  continued  Salvator,  his 
eyes  sparkling  with  delight.  “Very  well  then,  you  may 
rely  upon  it,  I will  overwhelm  your  envious  overween- 
ing persecutors,  and  get  you  the  honour  you  deserve. 
Intrust  your  picture  to  me  ; bring  it  to  my  studio  se- 
cretly by  night,  and  then  leave  all  the  rest  to  me.  Will 
you  do  so  ?” 

“ Gladly,  with  all  my  heart,”  replied  Antonio.  “And 
now  I should  very  much  like  to  talk  to  you  about  un- 
love-troubles as  well ; but  I feel  as  if  I ought  not  to  do 
so  to-day,  after  we  have  opened  our  minds  to  each  other 
on  the  subject  of  art.  I also  entreat  you  to  grant  me 
your  assistance  both  in  word  and  deed  later  on  in  this 
matter  of  my  love.” 

“ I am  at  your  service,”  said  Salvator,  “for  both,  both 
when  and  where  you  require  me.”  Then  as  he  was  go- 
ing away,  he  once  more  turned  round  and  said,  smiling, 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


85 

“ See  here,  Antonio,  when  you  disclosed  to  me  the  fact 
that  you  were  a painter,  I was  very  sorry  that  I had 
spoken  about  your  resemblance  to  Sanzio.  I took  it 
for  granted  that  you  were  as  silly  as  most  of  our  young 
folk,  who,  if  they  bear  but  the  slightest  resemblance  in 
the  face  to  any  great  master,  at  once  trim  their  beard 
or  hair  as  he  does,  and  from  this  cause  fancy  it  is  their 
business  to  imitate  the  style  of  the  master  in  their  art 
achievements,  even  though  it  is  a manifest  violation  of 
their  natural  talents  to  do  so.  Neither  of  us  has  men- 
tioned Raphael’s  name,  but  I assure  you  that  I have 
discerned  in  your  pictures  clear  indications  that  you 
have  grasped  the  full  significance  of  the  inimitable 
thoughts  which  are  reflected  in  the  works  of  this  the 
greatest  of  the  painters  of  the  age.  You  understand 
Raphael,  and  would  give  me  a different  answer  from 
what  Velasquez  1 did  when  I asked  him  not  long  ago 
what  he  thought  of  Sanzio.  ‘ Titian,’  he  replied,  ‘ is  the 
greatest  painter  ; Raphael  knows  nothing  about  carna- 
tion.’ This  Spaniard,  methinks,  understands  flesh  but 
not  criticism  ; and  yet  these  men  in  St.  Luke  elevate 
him  to  the  clouds  because  he  once  painted  cherries 
which  the  sparrows  picked  at.”2 

It  happened  not  many  days  afterwards  that  the 
Academicians  of  St.  Luke  met  together  in  their  church 
to  prove  the  works  which  had  been  announced  for  ex- 
hibition. There  too  Salvator  had  sent  Scacciati’s  fine 
picture.  In  spite  of  themselves  the  painters  were 


1 Don  Diego  Velazquez  de  Silva,  the  great  Spanish  painter,  born  in 
1599,  died  in  1660.  He  twice  visited  Italy  and  Naples,  in  1629-31 
and  in  1648-51,  and  was  for  a time  intimate  with  Ribera. 

5 This  suggests  the  legend  of  Quentin  Massys  of  Antwerp  and  the 
fly,  or  the  still  older,  but  perhaps  not  more  historical  story  of  the  Greek 
painters,  Zeuxis  and  the  bunch  of  grapes,  which  the  birds  came  to  peck 
at,  and  Parrhasius,  whose  curtain  deceived  even  Zeuxis  himself. 


86 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


greatly  struck  with  its  grace  and  power  ; and  from  all 
lips  there  was  heard  nothing  but  the  most  extrava- 
gant praise  when  Salvator  informed  them  that  he  had 
brought  the  picture  with  him  from  Naples,  as  the  leg- 
acy of  a young  painter  who  had  been  cut  off  in  the 
pride  of  his  days. 

It  was  not  long  before  all  Rome  was  crowding  to  see 
and  admire  the  picture  of  the  young  unknown  painter 
who  had  died  so  young  ; it  was  unanimously  agreed 
that  no  such  work  had  been  done  since  Guido  Reni’s 
time ; some  even  went  so  far  in  their  just  enthusiasm 
as  to  place  this  exquisitely  lovely  Magdalene  before 
Guido’s  creations  of  a similar  kind.  Amongst  the 
crowd  of  people  who  were  always  gathered  round 
Scacciati’s  picture,  Salvator  one  day  observed  a man 
who,  besides  presenting  a most  extraordinary  appear- 
ance, behaved  as  if  he  were  crazy.  Well  advanced  in 
years,  he  was  tall,  thin  as  a spindle,  with  a pale  face,  a 
long  sharp  nose,  a chin  equally  as  long,  ending  more- 
over in  a little  pointed  beard,  and  with  grey,  gleaming 
eyes.  On  the  top  of  his  light  sand-coloured  wig  he 
had  set  a high  hat  with  a magnificent  feather  ; he  wore 
a short  dark  red  mantle  or  cape  with  many  bright  but- 
tons, a sky-blue  doublet  slashed  in  the  Spanish  style, 
immense  leather  gauntlets  with  silver  fringes,  a long 
rapier  at  his  side,  light  grey  stockings  drawn  up  above 
his  bony  knees  and  gartered  with  yellow  ribbons,  whilst 
he  had  bows  of  the  same  sort  of  yellow  ribbon  on  his 
shoes. 

This  remarkable  figure  was  standing  before  the  pict- 
ure like  one  enraptured  : he  raised  himself  on  tiptoe  ; 
he  stooped  down  till  he  became  quite  small  ; then  he 
jumped  up  with  both  feet  at  once,  heaved  deep  sighs, 
groaned,  nipped  his  eyes  so  close  together  that  the 
tears  began  to  trickle  down  his  cheeks,  opened  them 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


87 


wide  again,  fixed  his  gaze  immovably  upon  the  charm- 
ing Magdalene,  sighed  again,  lisped  in  a thin,  queru- 
lous, mutilated  voice,  “Ah!  carissima — benedettissima  ! 
Ah  ! Marianna — Mariannina — bellissima,"  &c.  (“  Oh  ! 

dearest — most  adored  ! Ah  ! Marianna — sweet  Mari- 
anna ! my  most  beautiful  ! ”)  Salvator,  who  had  a mad 
fancy  for  such  oddities,  drew  near  to  the  old  fellow,  in- 
tending to  engage  him  in  conversation  about  Scacciati’s 
work,  which  seemed  to  afford  him  so  much  exquisite 
delight.  Without  paying  any  particular  heed  to  Salva- 
tor, the  old  gentleman  stood  cursing  his  poverty,  be- 
cause he  could  not  give  a million  sequins  for  the  pict- 
ure, and  place  it  under  lock  and  key  where  nobody 
could  set  their  infernal  eyes  upon  it.  Then,  hopping 
up  and  down  again,  he  blessed  the  Virgin  and  all  the 
holy  saints  that  the  reprobate  artist  who  had  painted 
the  heavenly  picture  which  was  driving  him  to  despair 
and  madness  was  dead. 

Salvator  concluded  that  the  man  either  was  out  of 
his  mind,  or  was  an  Academician  of  St.  Luke  with 
whom  he  was  unacquainted. 

All  Rome  was  full  of  Scacciati's  wonderful  picture  ; 
people  could  scarcely  talk  about  anything  else,  and 
this  of  course  was  convincing  proof  of  the  excellence 
of  the  work.  And  when  the  painters  were  again  as- 
sembled in  the  church  of  St.  Luke,  to  decide  about  the 
admission  of  certain  other  pictures  which  had  been 
announced  for  exhibition,  Salvator  Rosa  all  at  once 
asked,  whether  the  painter  of  the  “ Magdalene  at  the 
Saviour’s  Feet”  was  not  worthy  of  being  admitted  a 
member  of  the  Academy.  They  all  with  one  accord, 
including  even  that  hairsplitter  in  criticism,  Baron 
Josepin,1  declared  that  such  a great  artist  would  have 


1 Giuseppe  Cesari,  called  Josepin  or  the  Chevalier  d’Arpin,  a 
painter  of  the  Roman  school,  born  in  1560  or  1568,  died  in  1640. 


88 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


been  an  ornament  to  the  Academy,  and  expressed  their 
sorrow  at  his  death  in  the  choicest  phrases,  although, 
like  the  crazy  old  man,  they  were  praising  Heaven  in 
their  hearts  that  he  was  dead.  Still  more,  they  were 
so  far  carried  away  by  their  enthusiasm  that  they 
passed  a resolution  to  the  effect  that  the  admirable 
young  painter  whom  death  had  snatched  away  from 
art  so  early  should  be  nominated  a member  of  the 
Academy  in  his  grave,  and  that  masses  should  be  read 
for  the  benefit  of  his  soul  in  the  church  of  St.  Luke. 
They  therefore  begged  Salvator  to  inform  them  what 
was  the  full  name  of  the  deceased,  the  date  of  his 
birth,  the  place  where  he  was  born,  &c. 

Then  Salvator  rose  and  said  in  a loud  voice,  “ Sig- 
nors, the  honour  you  are  anxious  to  render  to  a dead 
man  you  can  more  easily  bestow  upon  a living  man 
who  walks  in  your  midst.  Learn  that  the  ‘ Magdalene 
at  the  Saviour’s  Feet  ’ — the  picture  which  you  so  justly 
exalt  above  all  other  artistic  productions  that  the  last 
few  years  have  given  us,  is  not  the  work  of  a dead  Nea- 
politan painter  as  I pretended  (this  I did  simply  to  get 
an  unbiassed  judgment  from  you) ; that  painting,  that 
masterpiece,  which  all  Rome  is  admiring,  is  from  the 
hand  of  Signor  Antonio  Scacciati,  the  chirurgeon.” 

The  painters  sat  staring  at  Salvator  as  if  suddenly 
thunderstruck,  incapable  of  either  moving  or  uttering 
a single  sound.  He,  however,  after  quietly  exulting 
over  their  embarrassment  for  some  minutes,  continued, 
“Well  now,  signors,  you  would  not  tolerate  the  worthy 
Antonio  amongst  you  because  he  is  a chirurgeon  ; but 
I think  that  the  illustrious  Academy  of  St.  Luke  has 
great  need  of  a surgeon  to  set  the  limbs  of  the  many 

He  posed  as  an  artistic  critic  in  Rome  during  the  later  years  of  his 
life,  and  his  judgment  was  claimed  by  his  friends  to  be  authoritative 
and  final  in  all  matters  connected  with  art. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


89 


crippled  figures  which  emerge  from  the  studios  of  a 
good  many  amongst  your  number.  But  of  course  you 
will  no  longer  scruple  to  do  what  you  ought  to  have 
done  long  ago,  namely,  elect  that  excellent  painter 
Antonio  Scacciati  a member  of  the  Academy.” 

The  Academicians,  swallowing  Salvator’s  bitter  pill, 
feigned  to  be  highly  delighted  that  Antonio  had  in 
this  way  given  such  incontestable  proofs  of  his  talent, 
and  with  all  due  ceremony  nominated  him  a member 
of  the  Academy. 

As  soon  as  it  became  known  in  Rome  that  Antonio 
was  the  author  of  the  wonderful  picture  he  was  over- 
whelmed with  congratulations,  and  even  with  com- 
missions for  great  works,  which  poured  in  upon  him 
from  all  sides.  Thus  by  Salvator’s  shrewd  and  cunning 
stratagem  the  young  man  emerged  all  at  once  out  of 
his  obscurity,  and  with  the  first  real  step  he  took  on 
his  artistic  career  rose  to  great  honour. 

Antonio  revelled  in  ecstasies  of  delight.  So  much 
the  more  therefore  did  Salvator  wonder  to  see  him, 
some  days  later,  appear  with  his  face  pale  and  distorted, 
utterly  miserable  and  woebegone.  “ Ah  ! Salvator  ! ” 
said  Antonio,  “what  advantage  has  it  been  to  me  that 
you  have  helped  me  to  rise  to  a level  far  beyond  my 
expectations,  that  I am  now  overwhelmed  with  praise 
and  honour,  that  the  prospect  of  a most  successful 
artistic  career  is  opening  out  before  me  ? Oh  ! I am 
utterly  miserable,  for  the  picture  to  which,  next  to  you, 
my  dear  sir,  I owe  my  great  triumph,  has  proved  the 
source  of  my  lasting  misfortune.” 

“ Stop  ! ” replied  Salvator,  “ don’t  sin  against  either 
your  art  or  your  picture.  I don’t  believe  a word  about 
the  terrible  misfortune  which,  you  say,  has  befallen 
you.  You  are  in  love,  and  I presume  you  can’t  get  all 
your  wishes  gratified  at  once,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  ; 


90 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


that's  all  it  is.  Lovers  are  like  children  ; they  scream 
and  cry  if  anybody  only  just  touches  their  doll.  Have 
done,  I pray  you,  with  that  lamentation,  for  I tell  you 
I can't  do  with  it.  Come  now,  sit  yourself  down  there 
and  quietly  tell  me  all  about  your  fair  Magdalene,  and 
give  me  the  history  of  your  love  affair,  and  let  me  know 
what  are  the  stones  of  offence  that  we  have  to  remove, 
for  I promise  you  my  help  beforehand.  The  more  ad- 
venturous the  schemes  are  which  we  shall  have  to  un- 
dertake, the  more  I shall  like  them.  In  fact,  my  blood 
is  coursing  hotly  in  my  veins  again,  and  my  regimen 
requires  that  I engage  in  a few  wild  pranks.  But  go 
on  with  your  story,  Antonio,  and  as  I said,  let’s  have  it 
quietly  without  any  sighs  and  lamentations,  without 
any  Ohs  ! and  Ahs  ! ” 

Antonio  took  his  seat  on  the  stool  which  Salvator 
had  pushed  up  to  the  easel  at  which  he  was  working, 
and  began  as  follows  : — 

“There  is  a high  house  in  the  Via  Ripetta,1  with  a 
balcony  which  projects  far  over  the  street  so  as  at  once 
to  strike  the  eye  of  any  one  entering  through  the  Porta 
del  Popolo,  and  there  dwells  perhaps  the  most  whimsi- 
cal oddity  in  all  Rome, — an  old  bachelor  with  every 
fault  that  belongs  to  that  class  of  persons — avaricious, 
vain,  anxious  to  appear  young,  amorous,  foppish.  He 
is  tall,  as  thin  as  a switch,  wears  a gay  Spanish  costume, 
a sandy  wig,  a conical  hat,  leather  gauntlets,  a rapier  at 
his  side  ” 

1 In  a previous  note  it  was  stated  that  the  Via  del  Corso  ran  from  the 
Piazza  del  Popolo  southwards  to  the  centre  of  the  city  of  Rome.  Be- 
sides this  street  there  are  two  others  which  run  from  the  same  square 
in  almost  the  same  direction,  the  Via  di  Ripetta  and  the  Via  del  Ba- 
buino,  the  former  being  to  the  west  of  the  Via  del  Corso  and  the  latter 
to  the  east,  and  each  gradually  gets  more  distant  from  the  Via  del 
Corso  the  farther  it  recedes  from  the  Square.  On  the  opposite  side  of 
the  Piazza  del  Popolo  is  the  Porta  del  Popolo. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


9l 


“ Stop,  stop ! ” cried  Salvator,  interrupting  him, 
“excuse  me  a minute  or  two,  Antonio.”  Then,  turn- 
ing about  the  picture  at  which  he  was  painting,  he 
seized  his  charcoal  and  in  a few  free  bold  strokes 
sketched  on  the  back  side  of  the  canvas  the  eccentric 
old  gentleman  whom  he  had  seen  behaving  like  a crazed 
man  in  front  of  Antonio’s  picture. 

“ By  all  the  saints  ! ” cried  Antonio,  as  he  leapt  to 
his  feet,  and,  forgetful  of  his  unhappiness,  burst  out 
into  a loud  laugh,  “ by  all  the  saints  ! that’s  he  ! That’s 
Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi,  whom  I was  just  describing, 
that’a  he  to  the  very  T.” 

“ So  you  see,”  said  Salvator  calmly,  “ that  I am  al- 
ready acquainted  with  the  worthy  gentleman  who  most 
probably  is  your  bitter  enemy.  But  go  on.” 

“ Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi,”  continued  Antonio,  “ is 
as  rich  as  Croesus,  but  at  the  same  time,  as  I just  told 
you,  a sordid  miser  and  an  incurable  coxcomb.  The 
best  thing  about  him  is  that  he  loves  art,  particularly 
music  and  painting  ; but  he  mixes  up  so  much  folly 
with  it  all  that  even  in  these  things  there’s  no  getting 
on  with  him.  He  considers  himself  the  greatest  musi- 
cal composer  in  the  world,  and  that  there’s  not  a singer 
in  the  Papal  choir  who  can  at  all  approach  him.  Ac- 
cordingly he  looks  down  upon  our  old  Frescobaldi1 
with  contempt ; and  when  the  Romans  talk  about  the 
wonderful  charm  of  Ceccarelli’s  voice,  he  informs  them 
that  Ceccarelli  knows  as  much  about  singing  as  a pair 
of  top-boots,  and  that  he,  Capuzzi,  knows  which  is  the 
right  way  to  fascinate  the  public.  But  as  the  first 
singer  of  the  Pope  bears  the  proud  name  of  Signor 
Odoardo  Ceccarelli  di  Merania,  so  our  Capuzzi  is 

1 Girolamo  Frescobaldi,  the  most  distinguished  organist  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  born  about  1587  or  1588.  He  early  won  a reputation 
both  as  a singer  and  as  an  organist. 


92 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


greatly  delighted  when  anybody  calls  him  Signor  Pas> 
quale  Capuzzi  di  Senigaglia  ; for  it  was  in  Senigaglia  1 
that  he  was  born,  and  the  popular  rumour  goes  that  his 
mother,  being  startled  at  sight  of  a sea-dog  (seal)  sud- 
denly rising  to  the  surface,  gave  birth  to  him  in  a fish- 
erman’s boat,  and  that  accounts,  it  is  said,  for  a good 
deal  of  the  sea-cur  in  his  nature.  Several  years  ago  he 
brought  out  an  opera  on  the  stage,  which  was  fearfully 
hissed  ; but  that  hasn’t  cured  him  of  his  mania  for  writ- 
ing execrable  music.  Indeed,  when  he  heard  Francesco 
Cavalli’s  2 opera  Le  Nozze  di  Teti  e Peleo , he  swore  that 
the  composer  had  filched  the  sublimest  of  the  thoughts 
from  his  own  immortal  works,  for  which  he  was  near 
being  thrashed  and  even  stabbed.  He  still  has  a craze 
for  singing  arias,  and  accompanies  his  hideous  squalling 
on  a wretched  jarring,  jangling  guitar,  all  out  of  tune. 
His  faithful  Pylades  is  an  ill-bred  dwarfish  eunuch, 
whom  the  Romans  call  Pitichinaccio.  There  is  a third 
member  of  the  company — guess  who  it  is? — Why,  none 
other  than  the  Pyramid  Doctor,  who  kicks  up  a noise 
like  a melancholy  ass  and  yet  fancies  he’s  singing  an 
excellent  bass,  quite  as  good  as  Martinelli  of  the  Papal 
choir.  Now  these  three  estimable  people  are  in  the 
habit  of  meeting  in  the  evening  on  the  balcony  of  Ca- 
puzzi’s  house,  where  they  sing  Carissimi’s3  motets,  until 
all  the  dogs  and  cats  in  the  neighbourhood  round  break 

1 Senigaglia  or  Senigallia,  a town  on  the  Adriatic,  in  the  province  of 
Ancona. 

2 Pietro  Francesco  Cavalli,  whose  real  name  was  Caletti-Bruni.  He 
was  organist  at  St.  Mark’s  at  Venice  for  about  thirty-six  years  (1640- 
1676).  He  composed  both  for  the  Church  and  for  the  stage. 

3 Giacomo  Carissimi,  attached  during  the  greater  part  of  his  life  to 
the  church  of  San  Apollinaris  at  Rome.  He  died  in  1674.  He  did 
much  for  musical  art,  perfecting  recitative  and  advancing  the  develop- 
ment of  the  sacred  cantata.  His  accompaniments  are  generally  distin- 
guished for  “lightness  and  variety.” 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


93 


out  into  dirges  of  miawing  and  howling,  and  all  their 
neighbours  heartily  wish  the  devil  would  run  away  with 
all  the  blessed  three. 

“ With  this  whimsical  old  fellow,  Signor  Pasquale 
Capuzzi,  of  whom  my  description  will  have  enabled 
you  to  form  a tolerably  adequate  idea,  my  father  lived 
on  terms  of  intimacy,  since  he  trimmed  his  wig  and 
beard.  When  my  father  died,  I undertook  this  busi- 
ness ; and  Capuzzi  was  in  the  highest  degree  satisfied 
with  me,  because,  as  he  once  affirmed,  I knew  better 
than  anybody  else  how  to  give  his  moustaches  a bold 
upward  twirl  ; but  the  real  reason  was  because  I was 
satisfied  with  the  few  pence  with  which  he  rewarded 
me  for  my  pains.  But  he  firmly  believed  that  he  more 
than  richly  indemnified  me,  since,  whilst  I was  trim- 
ming his  beard,  he  always  closed  his  eyes  and  croaked 
through  an  aria  from  his  own  compositions,  which, 
however,  almost  split  my  ears  ; and  yet  the  old  fellow’s 
crazy  gestures  afforded  me  a good  deal  of  amusement, 
so  that  I continued  to  attend  him.  One  day  when  I 
went,  I quietly  ascended  the  stairs,  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  opened  it,  when  lo,  there  was  a girl — an 
angel  of  light,  who  came  to  meet  me.  You  know  my 
Magdalene  ; it  was  she.  I stood  stock  still,  rooted  to 
the  spot.  No,  Salvator,  you  shall  have  no  Ohs  ! and 
Ahs  ! Well,  the  first  sight  of  this,  the  most  lovely 
maiden  of  her  sex,  enkindled  in  me  the  most  ardent 
passionate  love.  The  old  man  informed  me  with  a 
smirk  that  the  young  lady  was  the  daughter  of  his 
brother  Pietro,  who  had  died  at  Senigaglia,  that  her 
name  was  Marianna,  and  that  she  was  quite  an  orphan  ; 
being  her  uncle  and  guardian,  he  had  taken  her  into 
his  house.  You  can  easily  imagine  that  henceforward 
Capuzzi’s  house  was  my  Paradise.  But  no  matter 
what  devices  I had  recourse  to,  I could  never  succeed 


94 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


in  getting  a tcte-ä-tcte  with  Marianna,  even  for  a single 
moment.  Her  glances,  however,  and  many  a stolen 
sigh,  and  many  a soft  pressure  of  the  hand,  resolved  all 
doubts  as  to  my  good  fortune.  The  old  man  divined 
what  I was  after, — which  was  not  a very  difficult  thing 
for  him  to  do.  He  informed  me  that  my  behaviour 
towards  his  niece  was  not  such  as  to  please  him  alto- 
gether, and  he  asked  me  what  was  the  real  purport  of 
my  attentions.  Then  I frankly  confessed  that  I loved 
Marianna  with  all  my  heart,  and  that  the  greatest 
earthly  happiness  I could  conceive  was  a union  with 
her.  Whereupon  Capuzzi,  after  measuring  me  from 
top  to  toe,  burst  out  in  a guffaw  of  contempt,  and 
declared  that  he  never  had  any  idea  that  such  lofty 
thoughts  could  haunt  the  brain  of  a paltry  barber.  I 
was  almost  boiling  with  rage  ; I said  he  knew  very  well 
that  I was  no  paltry  barber  but  rather  a good  surgeon, 
and,  moreover,  in  so  far  as  concerned  the  noble  art  of 
painting,  a faithful  pupil  of  the  great  Annibal  Caracci 
and  of  the  unrivalled  Guido  Reni.  But  the  infamous 
Capuzzi  only  replied  by  a still  louder  guffaw  of  laughter, 
and  in  his  horrible  falsetto  squeaked,  1 See  here,  my 
sweet  Signor  barber,  my  excellent  Signor  surgeon,  my 
honoured  Annibal  Caracci,  my  beloved  Guido  Reni, 
be  off  to  the  devil,  and  don’t  ever  show  yourself  here 
again,  if  you  don’t  want  your  legs  broken.’  Therewith 
the  cranky,  knock-kneed  old  fool  laid  hold  of  me  with 
no  less  an  intention  than  to  kick  me  out  of  the  room, 
and  hurl  me  down  the  stairs.  But  that,  you  know,  was 
past  everything.  With  ungovernable  fury  I seized  the 
old  fellow  and  tripped  him  up,  so  that  his  legs  stuck 
uppermost  in  the  air  ; and  there  I left  him  screaming 
aloud,  whilst  I ran  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the 
house-door ; which,  I need  hardly  say,  has  been  closed 
to  me  ever  since. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


95 


“And  that’s  how  matters  stood  when  you  came  to 
Rome  and  when  Heaven  inspired  Father  Boniface  with 
the  happy  idea  of  bringing  me  to  you.  Then  so  soon 
as  your  clever  trick  had  brought  me  the  success  for 
which  I had  so  long  been  vainly  striving,  that  is,  when 
I was  accepted  by  the  Academy  of  St.  Luke,  and  all 
Rome  was  heaping  up  praise  and  honour  upon  me  to  a 
lavish  extent,  I went  straightway  to  the  old  gentleman 
and  suddenly  presented  myself  before  him  in  his  own 
room,  like  a threatening  apparition.  Such  at  least  he 
must  have  thought  me,  for  he  grew  as  pale  as  a corpse, 
and  retreated  behind  a great  table,  trembling  in  every 
limb.  And  in  a firm  and  earnest  way  I represented  to 
him  that  it  was  not  now  a paltry  barber  or  a surgeon, 
but  a celebrated  painter  and  Academician  of  St.  Luke, 
Antonio  Scacciati,  to  whom  he  would  not,  I hoped,  re- 
fuse the  hand  of  his  niece  Marianna.  You  should  have 
seen  into  what  a passion  the  old  fellow  flew.  He 
screamed  ; he  flourished  his  arms  about  like  one  pos- 
sessed of  devils  ; he  yelled  that  I,  a ruffianly  murderer, 
was  seeking  his  life,  that  I had  stolen  his  Marianna  from 
him  since  I had  portrayed  her  in  my  picture,  and  it  was 
driving  him  mad,  driving  him  to  despair,  for  all  the 
world,  all  the  world,  were  fixing  their  covetous,  lustful 
eyes  upon  his  Marianna,  his  life,  his  hope,  his  all  ; but  I 
had  better  take  care,  he  would  burn  my  house  over  my 
head,  and  me  and  my  picture  in  it.  And  therewith  he 
kicked  up  such  adin,  shouting,  cFire  ! Murder!  Thieves! 
Help ! ’ that  I was  perfectly  confounded,  and  only 
thought  of  making  the  best  of  my  way  out  of  the  house. 

“The  crackbrained  old  fool  is  over  head  and  ears  in 
love  with  his  niece  ; he  keeps  her  under  lock  and  key  ; 
and  as  soon  as  he  succeeds  in  getting  dispensation  from 
the  Pope,  he  will  compel  her  to  a shameful  alliance 
with  himself.  All  hope  for  me  is  lost  ! ” 


9<5 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


“ Nay,  nay,  not  quite,”  said  Salvator,  laughing,  “ I 
am  of  opinion  that  things  could  not  be  in  a better  form 
for  you.  Marianna  loves  you,  of  that  you  are  con- 
vinced ; and  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  get  her  out  of  the 
power  of  that  fantastic  old  gentleman,  Signor  Pasquale 
Capuzzi.  I should  like  to  know  what  there  is  to  hinder 
a couple  of  stout  enterprising  fellows  like  you  and  me 
from  accomplishing  this.  Pluck  up  your  courage, 
Antonio.  Instead  of  bewailing,  and  sighing,  and  faint- 
ing like  a lovesick  swain,  it  would  be  better  to  set  to 
work  to  think  out  some  plan  for  rescuing  your  Mari- 
anna. You  just  wait  and  see,  Antonio,  how  finely  we’ll 
circumvent  the  old  dotard  ; in  such  like  emprises,  the 
wildest  extravagance  hardly  seems  to  me  wild  enough. 
I’ll  set  about  it  at  once,  and  learn  what  I can  about  the 
old  man,  and  about  his  usual  habits  of  life.  But  you 
must  not  be  seen  in  this  affair,  Antonio.  Go  away 
quietly  home,  and  come  back  to  me  early  to-morrow 
morning,  then  we’ll  consider  our  first  plan  of  attack.” 
Herewith  Salvator  shook  the  paint  out  of  his  brush, 
threw  on  his  mantle,  and  hurried  to  the  Corso,  whilst 
Antonio  betook  himself  home  as  Salvator  had  bidden 
him — his  heart  comforted  and  full  of  lusty  hope  again. 


III. 

Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi  turns  up  at  Salvator  Rosa's  studio.  IVhat 
takes  place  there.  The  cunning  scheme  which  Rosa  and  Scacciati 
carry  out,  and  the  consequences  of  the  same. 

Next  morning  Salvator,  having  in  the  meantime  in- 
quired into  Capuzzi’s  habits  of  life,  very  greatly  sur- 
prised Antonio  by  a description  of  them,  even  down  to 
the  minutest  details. 

“ Poor  Marianna,”  said  Salvator,  “ leads  a sad  life  of 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


97 


it  with  the  crazy  old  fellow.  There  he  sits  sighing  and 
ogling  the  whole  day  long,  and,  what  is  worse  still,  in 
order  to  soften  her  heart  towards  him,  he  sings  her  all 
and  sundry  love  ditties  that  he  has  ever  composed  or 
intends  to  compose.  At  the  same  time  he  is  so  mon- 
strously jealous  that  he  will  not  even  permit  the  poor 
young  girl  to  have  the  usual  female  attendance,  for 
fear  of  intrigues  and  amours,  which  the  maid  might  be 
induced  to  engage  in.  Instead,  a hideous  little  appari- 
tion with  hollow  eyes  and  pale  flabby  cheeks  appears 
every  morning  and  evening  to  perform  for  sweet  Mari- 
anna the  services  of  a tiring-maid.  And  this  little  ap- 
parition is  nobody  else  but  that  tiny  Tomb  Thumb  of  a 
Pitichinaccio,  who  has  to  don  female  attire.  Capuzzi, 
whenever  he  leaves  home,  carefully  locks  and  bolts 
every  door  ; besides  which  there  is  always  a confounded 
fellow  keeping  watch  belowT,  who  was  formerly  a bravo, 
and  then  a gendarme,  and  now  lives  under  Capuzzi’s 
rooms.  It  seems,  therefore,  a matter  almost  impossible 
to  effect  an  entrance  into  his  house,  but  nevertheless  I 
promise  you,  Antonio,  that  this  very  night  you  shall 
be  in  Capuzzi’s  own  room  and  shall  see  your  Mari- 
anna, though  this  time  it  will  only  be  in  Capuzzi’s 
presence.” 

“ What  do  you  say  ? ” cried  Antonio,  quite  excited  ; 
“what  do  you  say?  We  shall  manage  it  to-night  ? I 
thought  it  was  impossible.” 

“ There,  there,”  continued  Salvator,  “ keep  still,  An- 
tonio, and  let  us  quietly  consider  how  we  may  with 
safety  carry  out  the  plan  which  I have  conceived.  But 
in  the  first  place  I must  tell  you  that  I have  already 
scraped  an  acquaintance  with  Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi 
without  knowing  it.  That  wretched  spinet,  which 
stands  in  the  corner  there,  belongs  to  the  old  fellow, 
and  he  wants  me  to  pay  him  the  preposterous  sum  of 


98 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


ten  ducats1  for  it.  When  I was  convalescent  I longed 
for  some  music,  which  always  comforts  me  and  does 
me  a deal  of  good,  so  I begged  my  landlady  to  get  me 
some  such  an  instrument  as  that.  Dame  Caterina  soon 
ascertained  that  there  was  an  old  gentleman  living  in 
the  Via  Ripetta  who  had  a fine  spinet  to  sell.  I got 
the  instrument  brought  here.  I did  not  trouble  myself 
either  about  the  price  or  about  the  owner.  It  was 
only  yesterday  evening  that  I learned  quite  by  chance 
that  the  gentleman  who  intended  to  cheat  me  with 
this  rickety  old  thing  was  Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi. 
Dame  Caterina  had  enlisted  the  services  of  an  acquaint- 
ance living  in  the  same  house,  and  indeed  on  the  same 
floor  as  Capuzzi, — and  now  you  can  easily  guess  whence 
I have  got  all  my  budget  of  news.” 

“Yes,”  replied  Antonio,  “then  the  way  to  get  in  is 
found  ; your  landlady” 

“ I know  very  well,  Antonio,”  said  Salvator,  cutting 
him  short,  “ I know  wThat  you’re  going  to  say.  You 
think  you  can  find  a way  to  your  Marianna  through 
Dame  Caterina.  But  you’ll  find  that  we  can't  do  any- 
thing of  that  sort  ; the  good  dame  is  far  too  talkative ; 
she  can’t  keep  the  least  secret,  and  so  we  can’t  for  a 
single  moment  think  of  employing  her  in  this  business. 

1 The  first  silver  ducat  is  believed  to  have  been  struck  in  1140  by 
Roger  II. , Norman  king  of  Sicily  ; and  ducats  have  been  struck  con- 
stantly since  the  twelfth  century,  especially  at  Venice  (see  Merchant  oj 
Venice ).  They  have  varied  considerably  both  in  weight  and  fineness, 
and  consequently  in  value,  at  different  times  and  places.  Ducats 
have  been  struck  in  both  gold  and  silver.  The  early  Venetian  silver 
ducat  was  worth  about  five  shillings.  The  name  is  said,  according  to 
one  account,  to  have  been  derived  from  the  last  word  of  the  Latin 
legend  found  on  the  earliest  Venetian  gold  coins  : — Sit  tibi,  Christ e, 
datas,  quem  tu  regis,  ducatus  (duchy)  ; according  to  another  account 
it  is  taken  from  “il  ducato,"  the  name  generally  applied  to  the  duchy 
of  Apulia. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


99 


Now  just  quietly  listen  to  me.  Every  evening  when 
it’s  dark  Signor  Pasquale,  although  it’s  very  hard  work 
for  him  owing  to  his  being  knock-kneed,  carries  his 
little  friend  the  eunuch  home  in  his  arms,  as  soon  as  he 
has  finished  his  duties  as  maid.  Nothing  in  the  world 
could  induce  the  timid  Pitichinaccio  to  set  foot  on  the 
pavement  at  that  time  of  night.  So  that  when  ” 

At  this  moment  somebody  knocked  at  Salvator’s 
door,  and  to  the  consternation  of  both,  Signor  Pasquale 
stepped  in  in  all  the  splendour  of  his  gala  attire.  On 
catching  sight  of  Scacciati  he  stood  stock  still  as  if 
paralysed,  and  then,  opening  his  eyes  wide,  he  gasped 
for  air  as  though  he  had  some  difficulty  in  breathing. 
But  Salvator  hastily  ran  to  meet  him,  and  took  him  by 
both  hands,  saying,  “My  dear  Signor  Pasquale,  your 
presence  in  my  humble  dwelling  is,  I feel,  a very  great 
honour.  May  I presume  that  it  is  your  love  for  art 
which  brings  you  to  me  ? You  wish  to  see  the  newest 
things  I have  done,  perchance  to  give  me  a commission 
for  some  work.  Pray  in  what,  my  dear  Signor  Pas- 
quale, can  I serve  you  ? ” 

“ I have  a word  or  two  to  say  to  you,  my  dear  Signor 
Salvator,”  stammered  Capuzzi  painfully,  “ but — alone 
— when  you  are  alone.  With  your  leave  I will  with- 
draw and  come  again  at  a more  seasonable  time.” 

“ By  no  means,”  said  Salvator,  holding  the  old  gen- 
tleman fast,  “by  no  means,  my  dear  sir.  You  need  not 
stir  a step  ; you  could  not  have  come  at  a more  season- 
able time,  for,  since  you  are  a great  admirer  of  the 
noble  art  of  painting,  and  the  patron  of  all  good  paint- 
ers, I am  sure  you  will  be  greatly  pleased  for  me  to 
introduce  to  you  Antonio  Scacciati  here,  the  first 
painter  of  our  time,  whose  glorious  work — the  wonder- 
ful ‘ Magdalene  at  the  Saviour’s  Feet  ’ — has  excited 
throughout  all  Rome  the  most  enthusiastic  admiratioa 


IOO 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


You  too,  I need  hardly  say,  have  also  formed  a high 
opinion  of  the  work,  and  must  be  very  anxious  to  know 
the  great  artist  himself.” 

The  old  man  was  seized  with  a violent  trembling ; 
he  shook  as  if  he  had  a shivering  fit  of  the  ague,  and 
shot  fiery  wrathful  looks  at  poor  Antonio.  He  how- 
ever approached  the  old  gentleman,  and,  bowing  with 
polished  courtesy,  assured  him  that  he  esteemed  him- 
self happy  at  meeting  in  such  an  unexpected  way  with 
Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi,  whose  great  learning  in  music 
as  well  as  in  painting  was  a theme  for  wonder  not  only 
in  Rome  but  throughout  all  Italy,  and  he  concluded  by 
requesting  the  honour  of  his  patronage. 

This  behaviour  of  Antonio,  in  pretending  to  meet  the 
old  gentleman  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and  in 
addressing  him  in  such  flattering  phrases,  soon  brought 
him  round  again.  He  forced  his  features  into  a sim- 
pering smile,  and,  as  Salvator  now  let  his  hands  loose, 
gave  his  moustache  an  elegant  upward  curl,  at  the 
same  time  stammering  out  a few  unintelligible  words. 
Then,  turning  to  Salvator,  he  requested  payment  of  the 
ten  ducats  for  the  spinet  he  had  sold  him. 

“ Oh ! that  trifling  little  matter  we  can  settle  after- 
wards, my  good  sir,”  was  Salvator’s  answer.  “ First 
have  the  goodness  to  look  at  this  sketch  of  a picture 
which  I have  drawn,  and  drink  a glass  of  good  Syracuse 
whilst  you  do  so.”  Salvator  meanwhile  placed  his 
sketch  on  the  easel  and  moved  up  a chair  for  the  old 
gentleman,  and  then,  when  he  had  taken  his  seat,  he 
presented  him  with  a large  and  handsome  wine-cup 
full  of  good  Syracuse — the  little  pearl-like  bubbles  ris- 
ing gaily  to  the  top. 

Signor  Pasquale  was  very  fond  of  a glass  of  good 
wine — when  he  had  nothing  to  pay  for  it  ; and  now  he 
ought  to  have  been  in  an  especially  happy  frame  of 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


IOI 


mind,  for,  besides  nourishing  his  heart  with  the  hope 
of  getting  ten  ducats  for  a rotten,  worn-out  spinet,  he 
was  sitting  before  a splendid,  boldly-designed  picture, 
the  rare  beauty  of  which  he  was  quite  capable  of  esti- 
mating at  its  full  worth.  And  that  he  was  in  this  happy 
frame  of  mind  he  evidenced  in  divers  way  ; he  simpered 
most  charmingly  ; he  half  closed  his  little  eyes  ; he  as- 
siduously stroked  his  chin  and  moustache  ; and  lisped 
time  after  time,  “ Splendid  ! delicious  ! ” but  they  did 
not  know  to  which  he  was  referring,  the  picture  or  the 
wine. 

When  he  had  thus  worked  himself  round  into  a quiet 
cheerful  humour,  Salvator  suddenly  began — “ They  tell 
me,  my  dear  sir,  that  you  have  a most  beautiful  and 
amiable  niece,  named  Marianna — is  it  so  ? All  the 
young  men  of  the  city  are  so  smitten  with  love  that  they 
stupidly  do  nothing  but  run  up  and  down  the  Via  Ri- 
petta,  almost  dislocating  their  necks  in  their  efforts  to 
look  up  at  your  balcony  for  a sight  of  your  sweet  Mari- 
anna, to  snatch  a single  glance  from  her  heavenly 
eyes.” 

Suddenly  all  the  charming  simpers,  all  the  good  hu- 
mour which  had  been  called  up  into  the  old  gentleman’s 
face  by  the  good  wine,  were  gone.  Looking  gloomily 
before  him,  he  said  sharply,  “Ah  ! that’s  an  instance  of 
the  corruption  of  our  abandoned  young  men.  They  fix 
their  infernal  eyes,  there  probate  seducers,  upon  mere 
children.  For  I tell  you,  my  good  sir,  that  my  niece 
Marianna  is  quite  a child,  quite  a child,  only  just  out- 
grown her  nurse’s  care.” 

Salvator  turned  the  conversation  upon  something 
else  ; the  old  gentleman  recovered  himself.  But  just 
as  he,  his  face  again  radiant  with  sunshine,  was  on  the 
point  of  putting  the  full  wine-cup  to  his  lips,  Salvator 
began  anew.  “ But  pray  tell  me,  my  dear  sir,  if  it  is 


102 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


indeed  true  that  your  niece,  with  her  sixteen  summers, 
really  has  such  beautiful  auburn  hair,  and  eyes  so  full 
of  heaven’s  own  loveliness  and  joy,  as  has  Antonio’s 
‘ Magdalene  ? ’ It  is  generally  maintained  that  she  has.” 
“ I don’t  know,”  replied  the  old  gentleman,  still  more 
sharply  than  before,  “ I don’t  know.  But  let  us  leave 
my  niece  in  peace  ; rather  let  us  exchange  a few  in- 
structive words  on  the  noble  subject  of  art,  as  your  fine 
picture  here  of  itself  invites  me  to  do.” 

Always  when  Capuzzi  raised  the  wine-cup  to  his  lips 
to  take  a good  draught,  Salvator  began  anew  to  talk 
about  the  beautiful  Marianna,  so  that  at  last  the  old 
gentleman  leapt  from  his  chair  in  a perfect  passion, 
banged  the  cup  down  upon  the  table  and  almost  broke 
it,  screaming  in  a high  shrill  voice,  “ By  the  infernal  pit 
of  Pluto  ! by  all  the  furies  ! you  will  turn  my  wine  into 
poison — into  poison  I tell  you.  But  I see  through  you, 
you  and  your  fine  friend  Signor  Antonio,  you  think  to 
make  sport  of  me.  But  you’ll  find  yourselves  deceived. 
Pay  me  the  ten  ducats  you  owe  me  immediately,  and 
then  I will  leave  you  and  your  associate,  that  barber- 
fellow  Antonio,  to  make  your  way  to  the  devil.” 

Salvator  shouted,  as  if  mastered  by  the  most  violent 
rage,  “ What  ! you  have  the  audacity  to  treat  me  in 
this  way  in  my  own  house  ! Do  you  think  I’m  going 
to  pay  you  ten  ducats  for  that  rotten  box  ; the  wood- 
worms have  long  ago  eaten  all  the  goodness  and  all 
the  music  out  of  it  ? Not  ten — not  five — not  three — 
not  one  ducat  shall  you  have  for  it,  it’s  scarcely  worth 
a farthing.  Away  with  the  tumbledown  thing  ! ” and 
he  kicked  over  the  little  instrument  again  and  again, 
till  the  strings  were  all  jarring  and  jangling  together. 

“ Ha  ! ” screeched  Capuzzi,  “ justice  is  still  to  be  had 
in  Rome  ; I will  have  you  arrested,  sir, — arrested  and 
cast  into  the  deepest  dungeon  there  is,”  and  off  he  was 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


io3 


rushing  out  of  the  room,  blustering  like  a hailstorm. 
But  Salvator  took  fast  hold  of  him  with  both  hands,  and 
drew  him  down  into  the  chair  again,  softly  murmur- 
ing in  his  ear,  “ My  dear  Signor  Pasquale,  don’t  you 
perceive  that  I was  only  jesting  with  you  ? You  shall 
have  for  your  spinet,  not  ten,  but  thirty  ducats  cash 
down.”  And  he  went  on  repeating,  “thirty  bright 
ducats  in  ready  money,”  until  Capuzzi  said  in  a faint 
and  feeble  voice,  “ What  do  you  say,  my  dear  sir  ? 
Thirty  ducats  for  the  spinet  without  its  being  repaired  ?” 
Then  Salvator  released  his  hold  of  the  old  gentleman, 
and  asserted  on  his  honour  that  within  an  hour  the 
instrument  should  be  worth  thirty — nay,  forty  duc- 
ats, and  that  Signor  Pasquale  should  receive  as  much 
for  it. 

Taking  in  a fresh  supply  of  breath,  and  sighing  deep- 
ly, the  old  gentleman  murmured,  “ Thirty — forty  due- 
ats  ! ” Then  he  began,  “ But  you  have  greatly  offended 

me,  Signor  Salvator” “Thirty  ducats,”  repeated 

Salvator.  Capuzzi  simpered,  but  then  began  again, 
“ But  you  have  grossly  wounded  my  feelings,  Signor 

Salvator  ” “ Thirty  ducats,”  exclaimed  Salvator, 

cutting  him  short  ; and  he  continued  to  repeat, 
“Thirty  ducats!  thirty  ducats!”  as  long  as  the  old 
gentleman  continued  to  sulk — till  at  length  Capuzzi 
said,  radiant  with  deiight,  “ If  you  will  give  me  thirty, 
— I mean  forty  ducats  for  the  spinet,  all  shall  be  for- 
given and  forgotten,  my  dear  sir.” 

“But,”  began  Salvator,  “before  I can  fulfil  my 
promise,  I still  have  one  little  condition  to  make,  which 
you,  my  honoured  Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi  di  Seni- 
gaglia,  can  easily  grant.  You  are  the  first  musical 
composer  in  all  Italy,  besides  being  the  foremost  singer 
of  the  day.  When  I heard  in  the  opera  Le  Nozze  di 
Teti  e Peleo  the  great  scene  which  that  shameless  Fran- 


104 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


cesco  Cavalli  has  thievishly  taken  from  your  works,  I 
was  enraptured.  If  you  would  only  sing  me  that  aria 
whilst  I put  the  spinet  to  rights  you  would  confer  upon 
me  a pleasure  than  which  I can  conceive  of  none  more 
enjoyable.” 

Puckering  up  his  mouth  into  the  most  winning  of 
smiles,  and  blinking  his  little  grey  eyes,  the  old  gentle- 
man replied,  “ I perceive,  my  good  sir,  that  you  are 
yourself  a clever  musician,  for  you  possess  taste  and 
know  how  to  value  the  deserving  better  than  these 
ungrateful  Romans.  Listen — listen— to  the  aria  of  all 
arias.” 

Therewith  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  stretching  himself 
up  to  his  full  height,  spread  out  his  arms  and  closed 
both  eyes,  so  that  he  looked  like  a cock  preparing  to 
crow ; and  he  at  once  began  to  screech  in  such  a way 
that  the  walls  rang  again,  and  Dame  Caterina  and  her 
two  daughters  soon  came  running  in,  fully  under  the 
impression  that  such  lamentable  sounds  must  betoken 
some  accident  or  other.  At  sight  of  the  crowing  old 
gentleman  they  stopped  on  the  threshold  utterly  aston- 
ished ; and  thus  they  formed  the  audience  of  the  in- 
comparable musician  Capuzzi. 

Meanwhile  Salvator,  having  picked  up  the  spinet 
and  thrown  back  the  lid,  had  taken  his  palette  in  hand, 
and  in  bold  firm  strokes  had  begun  on  the  lid  of  the 
instrument  the  most  remarkable  piece  of  painting  that 
ever  was  seen.  The  central  idea  was  a scene  from 
Cavalli’s  opera  Le  Nozze  di  Teli,  but  there  was  a multi- 
tude of  other  personages  mixed  up  with  it  in  the  most 
fantastic  way.  Amongst  them  were  the  recognisable 
features  of  Capuzzi,  Antonio,  Marianna  (faithfully  re- 
produced from  Antonio’s  picture),  Salvator  himself, 
Dame  Caterina  and  her  two  daughters, — and  even  the 
Pyramid  Doctor  was  not  wanting, — and  all  grouped  so 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


105 

intelligently,  judiciously,  and  ingeniously,  that  Antonio 
could  not  conceal  his  astonishment,  both  at  the  artist's 
intellectual  power  as  well  as  at  his  technique. 

Meanwhile  old  Capuzzi  had  not  been  content  with 
the  aria  which  Salvator  had  requested  him  to  give,  but, 
carried  away  by  his  musical  madness,  he  went  on  sing- 
ing or  rather  screeching  without  intermission,  working 
his  way  through  the  most  awful  recitatives  from  one 
execrable  scene  to  another.  He  must  have  been  going 
on  for  nearly  two  hours  when  he  sank  back  in  his  chair, 
breathless,  and  with  his  face  as  red  as  a cherry.  And 
just  at  this  same  time  also  Salvator  had  so  far  worked 
out  his  sketch  that  the  figures  began  to  wear  a look  of 
vitality,  and  the  whole,  viewed  at  a little  distance,  had 
the  appearance  of  a finished  work. 

“ I have  kept  my  word  with  respect  to  the  spinet, 
my  dear  Signor  Pasquale,”  breathed  Salvator  in  the 
old  man’s  ear.  Pie  started  up  as  if  awakening  out  of  a 
deep  sleep.  Immediately  his  glance  fell  upon  the 
painted  instrument,  which  stood  directly  opposite  him. 
Then,  opening  his  eyes  wide  as  if  he  saw  a miracle, 
and  jauntily  throwing  his  conical  hat  on  the  top  of  his 
wig,  he  took  his  crutch-stick  under  his  arm,  made  one 
bound  to  the  spinet,  tore  the  lid  off  the  hinges,  and 
holding  it  above  his  head,  ran  like  a madman  out  of 
the  room,  down  the  stairs,  and  away,  away  out  of  the 
house  altogether,  followed  by  the  hearty  laughter  of 
Dame  Caterina  and  both  her  daughters. 

“The  old  miser,”  said  Salvator,  “knows  very  well 
that  he  has  only  to  take  yon  painted  lid  to  Count  Co- 
lonna  or  to  my  friend  Rossi  and  he  will  at  once  get 
forty  ducats  for  it,  or  even  more.” 

Salvator  and  Antonio  then  both  deliberated  how 
they  should  carry  out  the  plan  of  attack  which  was  to 
be  made  when  night  came.  We  shall  soon  see  what 


io6 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


the  two  adventurers  resolved  upon,  and  what  success 
they  had  in  their  adventure. 

As  soon  as  it  was  dark,  Signor  Pasquale,  after  lock- 
ing and  bolting  the  door  of  his  house,  carried  the  little 
monster  of  an  eunuch  home  as  usual.  The  whole  way 
the  little  wretch  was  whining  and  growling,  complain- 
ing that  not  only  did  he  sing  Capuzzi’s  arias  till  he  got 
catarrh  in  the  throat  and  burn  his  fingers  cooking  the 
macaroni,  but  he  had  now  to  lend  himself  to  duties 
which  brought  him  nothing  but  sharp  boxes  of  the  ear 
and  rough  kicks,  which  Marianna  lavishly  distributed 
to  him  as  soon  as  ever  he  came  near  her.  Old  Capuzzi 
consoled  him  as  well  as  he  could,  promising  to  provide 
him  an  ampler  supply  of  sweetmeats  than  he  had 
hitherto  done  ; indeed,  as  the  little  man  would  nohow 
cease  his  growling  and  querulous  complaining,  Pas- 
quale even  laid  himself  under  the  obligation  to  get  a 
natty  abbot’s  coat  made  for  the  little  torment  out  of  an 
old  black  plush  waistcoat  which  he  (the  dwarf)  had 
often  set  covetous  eyes  upon.  He  demanded  a wig 
and  a sword  as  well.  Parleying  upon  these  points  they 
arrived  at  the  Via  Bergognona,  for  that  was  where 
Pitichinaccio  dwelt,  only  four  doors  from  Salvator. 

The  old  man  set  the  dwarf  cautiously  down  and 
opened  the  street  door  ; and  then,  the  dwarf  on  in  front, 
they  both  began  to  climb  up  the  narrow  stairs,  which 
were  more  like  a rickety  ladder  for  hens  and  chickens 
than  steps  for  respectable  people.  But  they  had 
hardly  mounted  half  way  up  when  a terrible  racket 
began  up  above,  and  the  coarse  voice  of  some  wild 
drunken  fellow  was  heard  cursing  and  swearing,  and 
demanding  to  be  shown  the  way  out  of  the  damned 
house.  Pitichinaccio  squeezed  himself  close  to  the 
wall,  and  entreated  Capuzzi,  in  the  name  of  all  the 
saints,  to  go  on  first.  But  before  Capuzzi  had  ascended 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


107 


two  steps,  the  fellow  who  was  up  above  came  tumbling 
headlong  downstairs,  caught  hold  of  the  old  man,  and 
whisked  him  away  like  a whirlwind  out  through  the 
open  door  below  into  the  middle  of  the  street.  There 
they  both  lay, — Capuzzi  at  bottom  and  the  drunken 
brute  like  a heavy  sack  on  top  of  him.  The  old  gentle- 
man screamed  piteously  for  help  ; two  men  came  up  at 
once  and  with  considerable  difficulty  freed  him  from 
the  heavy  weight  lying  upon  him  ; the  other  fellow,  as 
soon  as  he  was  lifted  up,  reeled  away  cursing. 

“ Good  God  ! what’s  happened  to  you,  Signor 
Pasquale  ? What  are  you  doing  here  at  this  time  of 
night  ? What  big  quarrel  have  you  been  getting 
mixed  up  in  in  that  house  there?”  thus  asked  Sal- 
vator and  Antonio,  for  that  is  who  the  two  men  were. 

“Oh,  I shall  die  !”  groaned  Capuzzi;  “that  son  of 
the  devil  has  crushed  all  my  limbs  ; I can’t  move.” 
“Let  me  look,”  said  Antonio,  feeling  all  over  the  old 
gentleman’s  body,  and  suddenly  he  pinched  his  right 
leg  so  sharply  that  Capuzzi  screamed  out  aloud. 

“ By  all  the  saints  ! ” cried  Antonio  in  consternation, 
“by  all  the  saints!  my  dear  Signor  Pasquale,  you’ve 
broken  your  right  leg  in  the  most  dangerous  place.  If 
you  don’t  get  speedy  help  you  will  within  a short  time 
be  a dead  man,  or  at  any  rate  be  lame  all  your  life 
long.” 

A terrible  scream  escaped  the  old  man’s  breast. 
“Calm  yourself,  my  dear  sir,”  continued  Antonio, 
“although  I’m  now  a painter,  I haven’t  altogether  for- 
gotten my  surgical  practice.  We  will  carry  you  to 

Salvator’s  house  and  I will  at  once  bind  up  ”• 

“My  dear  Signor  Antonio,”  whined  Capuzzi,  “you 
nourish  hostile  feelings  towards  me,  I know.”  “But,” 
broke  in  Salvator,  “this  is  now  no  longer  the  time  to 
talk  about  enmity  ; you  are  in  danger,  and  that  is 


io8 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


enough  for  honest  Antonio  to  exert  all  his  skill  on 
your  behalf.  Lay  hold,  friend  Antonio.” 

Gently  and  cautiously  they  lifted  up  the  old  man 
between  them,  him  screaming  with  the  unspeakable 
pain  caused  by  his  broken  leg,  and  carried  him  to 
Salvator’s  dwelling. 

Dame  Caterina  said  that  she  had  had  a foreboding 
that  something  was  going  to  happen,  and  so  she  had 
not  gone  to  bed.  As  soon  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  old 
gentleman  and  heard  what  had  befallen  him,  she  began 
to  heap  reproaches  upon  him  for  his  bad  conduct.  “ I 
know,”  she  said,  “ I know  very  well,  Signor  Pasquale, 
who  you’ve  been  taking  home  again.  Now  that  you’ve 
got  your  beautiful  niece  Marianna  in  the  house  with 
you,  you  think  you’ve  no  further  call  to  have  women- 
folk about  you,  and  you  treat  that  poor  Pitichinaccio 
most  shameful  and  infamous,  putting  him  in  petticoats. 
But  look  to  it.  Ogni  came  ha  il  suo  osso  (Every  house 
has  its  skeleton).  Why  if  you  have  a girl  about  you, 
don’t  you  need  women-folk  ? Fate  il  passo  secondo  la 
gamba  (Cut  your  clothes  according  to  your  cloth),  and 
don’t  you  require  anything  either  more  or  less  from 
your  Marianna  than  what  is  right.  Don’t  lock  her  up 
as  if  she  were  a prisoner,  nor  make  your  house  a dun- 
geon. Asino  punto  convien  ehe  trotti  (If  you  are  in  the 
stream,  you  had  better  swim  with  it)  ; you  have  a beau- 
tiful niece  and  you  must  alter  your  ways  to  suit  her, 
that  is,  you  must  only  do  what  she  wants  you  to  do. 
But  you  are  an  ungallant  and  hard-hearted  man,  ay, 
and  even  in  love,  and  jealous  as  well,  they  say,  which  I 
hope  at  your  years  is  not  true.  Your  pardon  for  telling 
you  it  all  straight  out,  but  chi  ha  nel  petto  fiele  non  puo 
sputar  miele  (when  there’s  bile  in  the  heart  there  can’t 
be  honey  in  the  mouth).  So  now,  if  you  don’t  die  of 
your  broken  leg,  which  at  your  great  age  is  not  at  all  un- 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


109 


likely,  let  this  be  a warning  to  you  ; and  leave  your  niece 
free  to  do  what  she  likes,  and  let  her  marry  the  fine 
young  gentleman  as  I know  very  well.” 

And  so  the  stream  went  on  uninterruptedly,  whilst 
Salvator  and  Antonio  cautiously  undressed  the  old  gen- 
tleman and  put  him  to  bed.  Dame  Caterina’s  words 
were  like  knives  cutting  deeply  into  his  breast  ; but 
whenever  he  attempted  to  intervene,  Antonio  signed  to 
him  that  all  speaking  was  dangerous,  and  so  he  had  to 
swallow  his  bitter  gall.  At  length  Salvator  sent  Dame 
Caterina  away,  to  fetch  some  ice-cold  water  that  An- 
tonio wanted. 

Salvator  and  Antonio  satisfied  themselves  that  the 
fellow  who  had  been  sent  to  Pitichinaccio’s  house  had 
done  his  duty  well.  Notwithstanding  the  apparently 
terrible  fall,  Capuzzi  had  not  received  the  slightest 
damage  beyond  a slight  bruise  or  two.  Antonio  put 
the  old  gentleman’s  right  foot  in  splints  and  bandaged  it 
up  so  tight  that  he  could  not  move.  Then  they  wrapped 
him  up  in  cloths  that  had  been  soaked  in  ice-cold  water, 
as  a precaution,  they  alleged,  against  inflammation,  so 
that  the  old  gentleman  shook  as  if  with  the  ague. 

“ My  good  Signor  Antonio,”  he  groaned  feebly,  “ tell 
me  if  it  is  all  over  with  me.  Must  I die  ? ” 

“Compose  yourself,”  replied  Antonio.  “If  you  will 
only  compose  yourself,  Signor  Pasquale  ! As  you  have 
come  through  the  first  dressing  with  so  much  nerve 
and  without  fainting,  I think  we  may  say  that  the 
danger  is  past  ; but  you  will  require  the  most  attentive 
nursing.  At  present  we  mustn’t  let  you  out  of  the  doc- 
tor’s sight.” 

“Oh!  Antonio,”  whined  the  old  gentleman,  “you 
know  how  I like  you,  how  highly  I esteem  your  talents. 
Don’t  leave  me.  Give  me  your  dear  hand — so  ! You 
won’t  leave  me,  will  you,  my  dear  good  Antonio  ? ” 


IIO 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


“Although  I am  now  no  longer  a surgeon,”  said 
Antonio,  “although  I’ve  quite  given  up  that  hated 
trade,  yet  I will  in  your  case,  Signor  Pasquale,  make 
an  exception,  and  will  undertake  to  attend  you,  for 
which  I shall  ask  nothing  except  that  you  give  me 
your  friendship,  your  confidence  again.  You  were  a 
little  hard  upon  me  ” 

“ Say  no  more,”  lisped  the  old  gentleman,  “ not 
another  word,  my  dear  Antonio  ” 

“Your  niece  will  be  half  dead  with  anxiety,”  said 
Antonio  again,  “ at  your  not  returning  home.  You 
are,  considering  your  condition,  brisk  and  strong 
enough,  and  so  as  soon  as  day  dawns  we’ll  carry  you 
home  to  your  own  house.  There  I will  again  look  at 
vour  bandage,  and  arrange  your  bed  as  it  ought  to  be, 
and  give  your  niece  her  instructions,  so  that  you  may 
soon  get  well  again.” 

The  old  gentleman  heaved  a deep  sigh  and  closed 
his  eyes,  remaining  some  minutes  without  speaking. 
Then,  stretching  out  his  hand  towards  Antonio,  he 
drew  him  down  close  beside  him,  and  whispered,  “ It 
was  only  a jest  that  you  had  with  Marianna,  was  it  not, 
my  dear  sir  ? — one  of  those  merry  conceits  that  young 
folks  have  ” 

“ Think  no  more  about  that,  Signor  Pasquale,”  re- 
plied Antonio.  “Your  niece  did,  it  is  true,  strike  my 
fancy  ; but  I have  now  quite  different  things  in  my 
head,  and — to  confess  honestly  to  it — I am  very  pleased 
that  you  did  return  a sharp  answer  to  my  foolish  suit. 
I thought  I was  in  love  with  your  Marianna,  but  what 
I really  saw  in  her  was  only  a fine  model  for  my  ‘ Mag- 
dalene.’ And  this  probably  explains  how  it  is  that, 
now  that  my  picture  is  finished,  I feel  quite  indifferent 
towards  her.” 

“Antonio,”  cried  the  old  man,  in  a strong  voice, 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


1 1 1 


“Antonio,  you  glorious  fellow!  What  comfort  you 
give  me — what  help — what  consolation  ! Now  that 
you  don’t  love  Marianna  I feel  as  if  all  my  pain  had 
gone.” 

“Why,  I declare,  Signor  Pasquale,”  said  Salvator, 
“ if  we  didn’t  know  you  to  be  a grave  and  sensible  man, 
with  a true  perception  of  what  is  becoming  to  your 
years,  we  might  easily  believe  that  you  were  yourself 
by  some  infatuation  in  love  with  your  niece  of  sixteen 
summers.” 

Again  the  old  gentleman  closed  his  eyes,  and  groaned 
and  moaned  at  the  horrible  pain,  which  now  returned 
with  redoubled  violence. 

The  first  red  streaks  of  morning  came  shining  in 
through  the  window.  Antonio  announced  to  the  old 
gentleman  that  it  was  now  time  to  take  him  to  his  own 
house  in  the  Via  Ripetta.  Signor  Pasquale’s  reply  was 
a deep  and  piteous  sigh.  Salvator  and  Antonio  lifted 
him  out  of  bed  and  wrapped  him  in  a wide  mantle 
which  had  belonged  to  Dame  Caterina’s  husband,  and 
which  she  lent  them  for  this  purpose.  The  old  gentle- 
man implored  them  by  all  the  saints  to  take  off  the 
villainous  cold  bandages  in  which  his  bald  head  was 
swathed,  and  to  give  him  his  wig  and  plumed  hat. 
And  also,  if  it  were  possible,  Antonio  was  to  put  his 
moustache  a little  in  order,  that  Marianna  might  not 
be  too  much  frightened  at  sight  of  him. 

Two  porters  with  a litter  were  standing  all  ready 
before  the  door.  Dame  Caterina,  still  storming  at  the 
old  man,  and  mixing  a great  many  proverbs  in  her 
abuse,  carried  down  the  bed,  in  which  they  then  care- 
fully packed  him  ; and  so,  accompanied  by  Salvator 
and  Antonio,  he  was  taken  home  to  his  own  house. 

No  sooner  did  Marianna  see  her  uncle  in  this 
wretched  plight  than  she  began  to  scream,  whilst  a 


1 12 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


torrent  of  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes  ; without  noticing 
her  lover,  who  had  come  along  with  him,  she  grasped 
the  old  man’s  hands  and  pressed  them  to  her  lips,  be- 
wailing the  terrible  accident  that  had  befallen  him — so 
much  pity  had  the  good  child  for  the  old  man  who 
plagued  and  tormented  her  with  his  amorous  folly. 
Yet  at  this  same  moment  the  inherent  nature  of  woman 
asserted  itself  in  her  ; for  it  only  required  a few  signifi- 
cant glances  from  Salvator  to  put  her  in  full  possession 
of  all  the  facts  of  the  case.  Now,  for  the  first  time, 
she  stole  a glance  at  the  happy  Antonio,  blushing  hotly 
as  she  did  so  ; and  a pretty  sight  it  was  to  see  how 
a roguish  smile  gradually  routed  and  broke  through 
her  tears.  Salvator,  at  any  rate,  despite  the  “ Magda- 
lene,” had  not  expected  to  find  the  little  maiden  half 
so  charming,  or  so  sweetly  pretty  as  he  now  really  dis- 
covered her  to  be  ; and,  whilst  almost  feeling  inclined  to 
envy  Antonio  his  good  fortune,  he  felt  that  it  was  all 
the  more  necessary  to  get  poor  Marianna  away  from 
her  hateful  uncle,  let  the  cost  be  what  it  might. 

Signor  Pasquale  forgot  his  trouble  in  being  received 
so  affectionately  by  his  lovely  niece,  which  was  indeed 
more  than  he  deserved.  He  simpered  and  pursed  up 
his  lips  so  that  his  moustache  -was  all  of  a totter,  and 
groaned  and  whined,  not  with  pain,  but  simply  and 
solely  with  amorous  longing. 

Antonio  arranged  his  bed  professionally,  and,  after 
Capuzzi  had  been  laid  on  it,  tightened  the  bandage 
still  more,  at  the  same  time  so  muffling  up  his  left  leg 
as  well  that  he  had  to  lay  there  motionless  like  a log 
of  wood.  Salvator  withdrew  and  left  the  lovers  alone 
with  their  happiness. 

The  old  gentleman  lay  buried  in  cushions  ; moreover, 
as  an  extra  precaution,  Antonio  had  bound  a thick 
piece  of  cloth  well  steeped  in  water  round  his  head,  so 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


”3 


that  he  might  not  hear  the  lovers  whispering  together. 
This  was  the  first  time  they  unburdened  all  their  hearts 
to  each  other,  swearing  eternal  fidelity  in  the  midst  of 
tears  and  rapturous  kisses.  The  old  gentleman  could 
have  no  idea  of  what  was  going  on,  for  Marianna 
ceased  not,  frequently  from  time  to  time,  to  ask  him 
how  he  felt,  and  even  permitted  him  to  press  her  little 
white  hand  to  his  lips. 

When  the  morning  began  to  be  well  advanced,  An- 
tonio hastened  away  to  procure,  as  he  said,  all  the 
things  that  the  old  gentleman  required,  but  in  reality 
to  invent  some  means  for  putting  him,  at  any  rate  for 
some  hours,  in  a still  more  helpless  condition,  as  well  as 
to  consult  with  Salvator  what  further  steps  were  then 
to  be  taken. 


IV. 

Of  the  new  attack  made  by  Salvator  Rosa  and  Antonio  Scacciati  upon 
Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi  and  upon  his  company,  and  of  what 
further  happens  in  consequence. 

Next  morning  Antonio  came  to  Salvator,  melancholy 
and  dejected. 

“Well,  what’s  the  matter?”  cried  Salvator  when  he 
saw  him  coming,  “ what  are  you  hanging  your  head 
about  ? What’s  happened  to  you  now,  you  happy  dog? 
can  you  not  see  your  mistress  every  day,  and  kiss  her 
and  press  her  to  your  heart  ? ” 

“ Oh ! Salvator,  it’s  all  over  with  my  happiness,  it’s 
gone  for  ever,”  cried  Antonio.  “ The  devil  is  making 
sport  of  me.  Our  stratagem  has  failed,  and  we  now 
stand  on  a footing  of  open  enmity  with  that  cursed 
Capuzzi.” 

“ So  much  the  better,”  said  Salvator  ; “ so  much 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


”4 

the  better.  But  come,  Antonio,  tell  me  what’s  hap- 
pened.” 

“ Just  imagine,  Salvator,”  began  Antonio,  “ yesterday 
when  I went  back  to  the  Via  Ripetta  after  an  absence 
of  at  the  most  two  hours,  with  all  sorts  of  medicines, 
whom  should  I see  but  the  old  gentleman  standing  in 
his  own  doorway  fully  dressed.  Behind  him  was  the 
Pyramid  Doctor  and  the  deuced  ex-gendarme,  whilst  a 
confused  something  was  bobbing  about  round  their  legs. 
It  was,  I believe,  that  little  monster  Pitichinaccio. 
No  sooner  did  the  old  man  get  sight  of  me  than  he 
shook  his  fist  at  me,  and  began  to  heap  the  most  fear- 
ful curses  and  imprecations  upon  me,  swearing  that  if 
I did  but  approach  his  door  he  would  have  all  my  bones 
broken.  ‘ Be  off  to  the  devil,  you  infamous  barber-fel- 
low,’ he  shrieked;  ‘you  think  to  outwit  me  with  your 
lying  and  knavery.  Like  the  very  devil  himself,  you 
lie  in  wait  for  my  poor  innocent  Marianna,  and  fancy 
you  are  going  to  get  her  into  your  toils — but  stop  a 
moment ! I will  spend  my  last  ducat  to  have  the  vital 
spark  stamped  out  of  you,  ere  you’re  aware  of  it.  And 
your  fine  patron,  Signor  Salvator,  the  murderer — ban- 
dit— who’s  escaped  the  halter — he  shall  be  sent  to  join 
his  captain  Masaniello  in  hell — I’ll  have  him  out  of 
Rome  ; that  won’t  cost  me  much  trouble.’ 

“ Thus  the  old  fellow  raged,  and  as  the  damned  ex- 
gendarme, incited  by  the  Pyramid  Doctor,  was  making 
preparations  to  bear  down  upon  me,  and  a crowd  of 
curious  onlookers  began  to  assemble,  what  could  I do 
but  quit  the  field  with  all  speed?  I didn’t  like  to  come 
to  you  in  my  great  trouble,  for  I know  you  would  only 
have  laughed  at  me  and  my  inconsolable  complaints. 
Why,  you  can  hardly  keep  back  your  laughter  now.” 

As  Antonio  ceased  speaking,  Salvator  did  indeed 
burst  out  laughing  heartily. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


US 

“Now,”  he  cried,  “ now  the  thing  is  beginning  to  be 
rather  interesting.  And  now,  my  worthy  Antonio,  I 
will  tell  you  in  detail  all  that  took  place  at  Capuzzi’s 
after  you  had  gone.  You  had  hardly  left  the  house 
when  Signor  Splendiano  Accoramboni,  who  had  learned 
— God  knows  in  what  way — that  his  bosom-friend, 
Capuzzi,  had  broken  his  right  leg  in  the  night,  drew 
near  in  all  solemnity,  with  a surgeon.  Your  bandage 
and  the  entire  method  of  treatment  you  have  adopted 
with  Signor  Pasquale  could  not  fail  to  excite  suspicion. 
The  surgeon  removed  the  splints  and  bandages,  and  they 
discovered,  what  we  both  very  well  know,  that  there  was 
not  even  so  much  as  an  ossicle  of  the  worthy  Capuzzi’s 
right  foot  dislocated,  still  less  broken.  It  didn’t  require 
any  uncommon  sagacity  to  understand  all  the  rest.” 

“But,”  said  Antonio,  uttterly  astonished,  “but  my 
dear,  good  sir,  do  tell  me  how  you  have  learned  all  that ; 
tell  me  how  you  get  into  Capuzzi’s  house  and  know 
everything  that  takes  place  there.” 

“ I have  already  told  you,”  replied  Salvator,  “ that  an 
acquaintance  of  Dame  Caterina  lives  in  the  same  house, 
and  moreover,  on  the  same  floor  as  Capuzzi.  This  ac- 
quaintance, the  widow  of  a wine-dealer,  has  a daughter 
whom  my  little  Margaret  often  goes  to  see.  Now  girls 
have  a special  instinct  for  finding  out  their  fellows,  and 
so  it  came  about  that  Rose — that’s  the  name  of  the 
wine-dealer’s  daughter — and  Margaret  soon  discovered 
in  the  living-room  a small  vent-hole,  leading  into  a dark 
closet  that  adjoins  Marianna’s  apartment.  Marianna 
had  been  by  no  means  inattentive  to  the  whispering 
and  murmuring  of  the  two  girls,  nor  had  she  failed  to 
notice  the  vent-hole,  and  so  the  way  to  a mutual  ex- 
change of  communications  was  soon  opened  and  made 
use  of.  Whenever  old  Capuzzi  takes  his  afternoon  nap 
the  girls  gossip  away  to  their  heart’s  content.  You  will 


S/GNOR  FORMICA. 


1 16 

have  observed  that  little  Margaret,  Dame  Caterina’s  and 
my  favourite,  is  not  so  serious  and  reserved  as  her  elder 
sister,  Anna,  but  is  an  arch,  frolicsome,  droll  little 
thing.  Without  expressly  making  mention  of  your  love- 
affair  I have  instructed  her  to  get  Marianna  to  tell  her 
everything  that  takes  place  in  Capuzzi’s  house.  She 
has  proved  a very  apt  pupil  in  the  matter ; and  if  I 
laughed  at  your  pain  and  despondency  just  now  it  was 
because  I knew  what  would  comfort  you,  knew  I could 
prove  to  you  that  the  affair  has  now  taken  a most  fa- 
vourable turn.  I have  quite  a big  budget  full  of  excel- 
lent news  for  you.” 

“ Salvator  ! ” cried  Antonio,  his  eyes  sparkling  with 
joy,  “ how  you  cause  my  hopes  to  rise  ! Heaven  be 
praised  for  the  vent-hole.  I will  write  to  Marianna  ; 
Margaret  shall  take  the  letter  with  her”  ■ — 

“Nay,  nay,  we  can  have  none  of  that,  Antonio,” 
replied  Salvator.  “ Margaret  can  be  useful  to  us  with- 
out being  your  love-messenger  exactly.  Besides,  acci- 
dent, which  often  plays  many  fine  tricks,  might  carry 
your  amorous  confessions  into  old  Capuzzi’s  hands, 
and  so  bring  an  endless  amount  of  fresh  trouble  upon 
Marianna,  just  at  the  very  moment  when  she  is  on  the 
point  of  getting  the  lovesick  old  fool  under  her  thumb. 
For  listen  to  what  then  happened.  The  way  in  which 
Marianna  received  the  old  fellow  when  we  took  him 
home  has  quite  reformed  him.  He  is  fully  convinced 
that  she  no  longer  loves  you,  but  that  she  has  given 
him  at  least  one  half  of  her  heart,  and  that  all  he  has 
to  do  is  to  win  the  other  half.  And  Marianna,  since 
she  imbibed  the  poison  of  your  kisses,  has  advanced 
three  years  in  shrewdness,  artfulness,  and  experience. 
She  has  convinced  the  old  man,  not  only  that  she  had 
no  share  in  our  trick,  but  that  she  hates  our  goings-on, 
and  will  meet  with  scorn  every  device  on  your  part  to 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


1 17 

approach  her.  In  his  excessive  delight  the  old  man 
was  too  hasty,  and  swore  that  if  he  could  do  anything 
to  please  his  adored  Marianna  he  would  do  it  imme- 
diately, she  had  only  to  give  utterance  to  her  wish. 
Whereupon  Marianna  modestly  asked  for  nothing  ex- 
cept that  her  zio  carissimo  (dearest  uncle)  would  take 
her  to  see  Signor  Formica  in  the  theatre  outside  the 
Porta  del  Popolo.  This  rather  posed  Capuzzi  ; there 
were  consultations  with  the  Pyramid  Doctor  and  with 
Pitichinaccio  ; at  last  Signor  Pasquale  and  Signor 
Splendiano  came  to  the  resolution  that  they  really 
would  take  Marianna  to  this  theatre  to-morrow.  Piti- 
chinaccio, it  was  resolved,  should  accompany  them  in 
the  disguise  of  a handmaiden,  to  which  he  only  gave 
his  consent  on  condition  that  Signor  Pasquale  would 
make  him  a present,  not  only  of  the  plush  waistcoat, 
but  also  of  a wig,  and  at  night  would,  alternately  with 
the  Pyramid  Doctor,  carry  him  home.  That  bargain 
they  finally  made  ; and  so  the  curious  leash  will  cer- 
tainly go  along  with  pretty  Marianna  to  see  Signor 
Formica  to-morrow,  in  the  theatre  outside  the  Porta 
del  Popolo.” 

It  is  now  necessary  to  say  who  Signor  Formica  was, 
and  what  he  had  to  do  with  the  theatre  outside  the 
Porta  del  Popolo. 

At  the  time  of  the  Carnival  in  Rome,  nothing  is 
more  sad  than  when  the  theatre-managers  have  been 
unlucky  in  their  choice  of  a musical  composer,  or 
when  the  first  tenor  at  the  Argentina  theatre  has  lost 
his  voice  on  the  way,  or  when  the  male  prima  donna  1 
of  the  Valle  theatre  is  laid  up  with  a cold, — in  brief, 

1 Female  parts  continued  to  be  played  by  boys  in  England  down  to 
the  Restoration  (1660).  The  practice  of  women  playing  in  female 
parts  was  introduced  somewhat  earlier  in  Italy,  but  only  in  certain 
kinds  of  performances. 


1 18 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


when  the  chief  source  of  recreation  which  the  Romans 
were  hoping  to  find  proves  abortive,  and  then  comes 
Holy  Thursday  and  all  at  once  cuts  off  all  the  hopes 
which  might  perhaps  have  been  realized.  It  was  just 
after  one  of  these  unlucky  Carnivals — almost  before 
the  strict  fast-days  were  past,  when  a certain  Nicolo 
Musso  opened  a theatre  outside  the  Porta  del  Popolo, 
where  he  stated  his  intention  of  putting  nothing  but 
light  impromptu  comic  sketches  on  the  boards.  The 
advertisement  was  drawn  up  in  an  ingenious  and  witty 
style,  and  consequently  the  Romans  formed  a favour- 
able preconception  of  Musso’s  enterprise  ; but  inde- 
pendently of  this  they  would  in  their  longing  to  still 
their  dramatic  hunger  have  greedily  snatched  at  any 
the  poorest  pabulum  of  this  description.  The  interior 
arrangements  of  the  theatre,  or  rather  of  the  small 
booth,  did  not  say  much  for  the  pecuniary  resources 
of  the  enterprising  manager.  There  was  no  orchestra, 
nor  were  there  boxes.  Instead,  a gallery"  was  put  up 
at  the  back,  where  the  arms  of  the  house  of  Colonna 
were  conspicuous — a sign  that  Count  Colonna  had 
taken  Musso  and  his  theatre  under  his  especial  pro- 
tection. A platform  of  slight  elevation,  covered  with 
carpets  and  hung  round  with  curtains,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  requirements  of  the  piece,  had  to  represent 
a wood  or  a room  or  a street — this  was  the  stage.  Add 
to  this  that  the  spectators  had  to  content  themselves 
with  hard  uncomfortable  wooden  benches,  and  it  was 
no  wonder  that  Signor  Musso’s  patrons  on  first  enter- 
ing were  pretty  loud  in  their  grumblings  at  him  for 
calling  a paltry  wooden  booth  a theatre.  But  no  sooner 
had  the  first  two  actors  who  appeared  exchanged  a few 
words  together  than  the  attention  of  the  audience  was 
arrested  ; as  the  piece  proceeded  their  interest  took  the 
form  of  applause,  their  applause  grew  to  admiration, 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


1 19 

their  admiration  to  the  wildest  pitch  of  enthusiastic 
excitement,  which  found  vent  in  loud  and  continuous 
laughter,  clapping  of  hands,  and  screams  of  “ Bravo  ! 
Bravo  ! ” 

And  indeed  it  would  not  have  been  very  easy  to  find 
anything  more  perfect  than  these  extemporised  repre- 
sentations of  Nicolo  Musso  ; they  overflowed  with  wit, 
humour,  and  genius,  and  lashed  the  follies  of  the  day 
with  an  unsparing  scourge.  The  audience  were  quite 
carried  away  by  the  incomparable  characterisation 
which  distinguished  all  the  actors,  but  particularly  by 
the  inimitable  mimicry  of  Pasquarello,1  by  his  marvel- 
lously natural  imitations  of  the  voice,  gait,  and  postures 
of  well-known  personages.  By  his  inexhaustible  hu- 
mour, and  the  point  and  appositeness  of  his  impromptus, 
he  quite  carried  his  audience  away.  The  man  who 
played  the  role  of  Pasquarello,  and  who  called  himself 
Signor  Formica,  seemed  to  be  animated  by  a spirit  of 
singular  originality ; often  there  was  something  so 
strange  in  either  tone  or  gesture,  that  the  audience, 
even  in  the  midst  of  the  most  unrestrained  burst  of 
laughter,  felt  a cold  shiver  run  through  them.  He  was 
excellently  supported  by  Dr.  Gratiano,2 * * 5  who  in  panto- 

1 This  word  is  undoubtedly  connected  with  Pasqtullo  (a  satire),  or 

with  Pasquino,  a Roman  cobbler  of  the  fifteenth  century,  whose  shop 

stood  near  the  Braschi  Palace,  near  the  Piazza  Navona.  He  lashed 
the  follies  of  his  day,  particularly  the  vices  of  the  clergy,  with  caustic 
satire,  scathing  wit,  and  bitter  stinging  irony.  After  his  death  his  name 
was  transferred  to  a mutilated  statue,  upon  which  such  satiric  effusions 
continued  to  be  fastened. 

Pasquarello  would  thus  combine  the  characteristics  of  the  English 
clown  with  those  of  the  Roman  Pasquino. 

5 Doctor  Gratiano,  a character  in  the  popular  Italian  theatre  called 
Commedia  dell'  Arte , was  represented  as  a Bolognese  doctor,  and  wore 
a mask  with  black  nose  and  forehead  and  red  cheeks.  His  role  was 
that  of  a “pedantic  and  tedious  poser.” 


120 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


mimic  action,  in  voice,  and  in  his  talent  for  saying  the 
most  delightful  things  mixed  up  with  apparently  the 
most  extravagant  nonsense,  had  perhaps  no  equal  in 
the  world.  This  role  was  played  by  an  old  Bolognese 
named  Maria  Agli.  Thus  in  a short  time  all  educated 
Rome  was  seen  hastening  in  a continuous  stream  to 
Nicolo  Musso’s  little  theatre  outside  the  Porta  del 
Popolo,  whilst  Formica’s  name  was  on  everybody’s  lips, 
and  people  shouted  with  wild  enthusiasm,  “Oh!  For- 
mica! Fortnica  benedetto ! Oh!  Formicissimo /” — not  only 
in  the  theatre  but  also  in  the  streets.  They  regarded 
him  as  a supernatural  visitant,  and  many  an  old  lady 
who  had  split  her  sides  with  laughing  in  the  theatre, 
would  suddenly  look  grave  and  say  solemnly,  “ Scherza 
coi  f anti  e lascia  star  santi"  (Jest  with  children  but  let 
the  saints  alone),  if  anybody  ventured  to  say  the  least 
thing  in  disparagement  of  Formica’s  acting.  This 
arose  from  the  fact  that  outside  the  theatre  Signor 
Formica  was  an  inscrutable  mystery.  Never  was  he 
seen  anywhere,  and  all  efforts  to  discover  traces  of  him 
were  vain,  whilst  Nicolo  Musso  on  his  part  maintained 
an  inexorable  silence  respecting  his  retreat. 

And  this  was  the  theatre  that  Marianna  was  anxious 
to  go  to. 

“Let  us  make  a decisive  onslaught  upon  our  foes,” 
said  Salvator  ; “ we  couldn’t  have  a finer  opportunity 
than  when  they’re  returning  home  from  the  theatre.” 
Then  he  imparted  to  Antonio  the  details  of  a plan, 
which,  though  appearing  adventurous  and  daring,  An- 
tonio nevertheless  embraced  with  joy,  since  it  held  out 
to  him  a prospect  that  he  should  be  able  to  carry  off 
his  Marianna  from  the  hated  old  Capuzzi.  He  also 
heard  with  approbation  that  Salvator  was  especially 
concerned  to  chastise  the  Pyramid  Doctor. 

When  night  came,  Salvator  and  Antonio  each  took 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


121 


a guitar  and  went  to  the  Via  Ripetta,  where,  with  the 
express  view  of  causing  old  Capuzzi  annoyance,  they 
complimented  lovely  Marianna  with  the  finest  serenade 
that  ever  was  heard.  For  Salvator  played  and  sang  in 
masterly  style,  whilst  Antonio,  as  far  as  the  capabilities 
of  his  fine  tenor  would  allow  him,  almost  rivalled  Odo- 
ardo  Ceccarelli.  Although  Signor  Pasquale  appeared  on 
the  balcony  and  tried  to  silence  the  singers  with  abuse, 
his  neighbours,  attracted  to  their  windows  by  the  good 
singing,  shouted  to  him  that  he  and  his  companions 
howled  and  screamed  like  so  many  cats  and  dogs,  and 
yet  he  wouldn’t  listen  to  good  music  when  it  did  come 
into  the  street ; he  might  just  go  inside  and  stop  up  his 
ears  if  he  didn’t  want  to  listen  to  good  singing.  And 
so  Signor  Pasquale  had  to  bear  nearly  all  night  long 
the  torture  of  hearing  Salvator  and  Antonio  sing  songs 
which  at  one  time  were  the  sweetest  of  love-songs  and 
at  another  mocked  at  the  folly  of  amorous  old  fools. 
They  plainly  saw  Marianna  standing  at  the  window, 
notwithstanding  that  Signor  Pasquale  besought  her  in 
the  sweetest  phrases  and  protestations  not  to  expose 
herself  to  the  noxious  night  air. 

Next  evening  the  most  remarkable  company  that 
ever  was  seen  proceeded  down  the  Via  Ripetta  towards 
the  Porta  del  Popolo.  All  eyes  were  turned  upon  them, 
and  people  asked  each  other  if  these  were  maskers  left 
from  the  Carnival.  Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi,  spruce 
and  smug,  all  elegance  and  politeness,  wearing  his  gay 
Spanish  suit  well  brushed,  parading  a new  yellow 
feather  in  his  conical  hat,  and  stepping  along  in  shoes 
too  little  for  him,  as  if  he  were  walking  amongst  eggs, 
was  leading  pretty  Marianna  on  his  arm  ; her  slender 
figure  could  not  be  seen,  still  less  her  face,  since  she 
was  smothered  up  to  an  unusual  extent  in  her  veil  and 
wraps.  On  the  other  side  marched  Doctor  Splendiano 


122 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


Accoramboni  in  his  great  wig,  which  covered  the  whole 
of  his  back,  so  that  to  look  at  him  from  behind  there 
appeared  to  be  a huge  head  walking  along  on  two  little 
legs.  Close  behind  Marianna,  and  almost  clinging  to 
her,  waddled  the  little  monster  Pitichinaccio,  dressed 
in  fiery  red  petticoats,  and  having  his  head  covered  all 
over  in  hideous  fashion  with  bright-coloured  flowers. 

This  evening  Signor  Formica  outdid  himself  even, 
and,  what  he  had  never  done  before,  introduced  short 
songs  into  his  performance,  burlesquing  the  style  of 
certain  well-known  singers.  Old  Capuzzi’s  passion  for 
the  stage,  which  in  his  youth  had  almost  amounted  to 
infatuation,  was  now  stirred  up  in  him  anew.  In  a 
rapture  of  delight  he  kissed  Marianna’s  hand  time  after 
time,  and  protested  that  he  would  not  miss  an  evening 
visiting  Nicolo  Musso’s  theatre  with  her.  Signor  For- 
mica he  extolled  to  the  very  skies,  and  joined  hand  and 
foot  in  the  boisterous  applause  of  the  rest  of  the  spec- 
tators. Signor  Splendiano  was  less  satisfied,  and  kept 
continually  admonishing  Signor  Capuzzi  and  lovely 
Marianna  not  to  laugh  so  immoderatelv.  In  a single 
breath  he  ran  over  the  names  of  twenty  or  more  dis- 
eases which  might  arise  from  splitting  the  sides  with 
laughing.  But  neither  Marianna  nor  Capuzzi  heeded 
him  in  the  least.  As  for  Pitichinaccio,  he  felt  very  un- 
comfortable. He  had  been  obliged  to  sit  behind  the 
Pyramid  Doctor,  whose  great  wig  completely  over- 
shadowed him.  Not  a single  thing  could  he  see  on 
the  stage,  nor  any  of  the  actors,  and  was,  moreover, 
repeatedly  bothered  and  annoyed  by  two  forward 
women  who  had  placed  themselves  near  him.  They 
called  him  a dear,  comely  little  lady,  and  asked  him  if 
he  was  married,  though  to  be  sure,  he  was  very  young, 
and  whether  he  had  any  children,  who  they  dare  be 
bound  were  sweet  little  creatures,  and  so  forth.  The 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


I23 


cold  sweat  stood  in  beads  on  poor  Pitichinaccio’s  brow ; 
he  whined  and  whimpered,  and  cursed  the  day  he  was 
born. 

After  the  conclusion  of  the  performance,  Signor  Pas- 
quale  waited  until  the  spectators  had  withdrawn  from 
the  theatre.  The  last  light  was  extinguished  just  as 
Signor  Splendiano  had  lit  a small  piece  of  a wax  torch 
at  it  ; and  then  Capuzzi,  with  his  worthy  friends  and 
Marianna,  slowly  and  circumspectly  set  out  on  their 
return  journey. 

Pitichinaccio  wept  and  screamed  ; Capuzzi,  greatly 
to  his  vexation,  had  to  take  him  on  his  left  arm,  whilst 
with  the  right  he  led  Marianna.  Doctor  Splendiano 
showed  the  way  with  his  miserable  little  bit  of  torch, 
which  only  burned  with  difficulty,  and  even  then  in 
a feeble  sort  of  a way,  so  that  the  wretched  light  it  cast 
merely  served  to  reveal  to  them  the  thick  darkness  of 
the  night. 

Whilst  they  were  still  a good  distance  from  the  Porta 
del  Popolo  they  all  at  once  saw  themselves  surrounded 
by  several  tall  figures  closely  enveloped  in  mantles. 
At  this  moment  the  torch  was  knocked  out  of  the 
Doctor’s  hand,  and  went  out  on  the  ground.  Capuzzi, 
as  well  as  the  Doctor,  stood  still  without  uttering  a 
sound.  Then,  without  their  knowing  where  it  came 
from,  a pale  reddish  light  fell  upon  the  muffled  figures, 
and  four  grisly  skulls  riveted  their  hollow  ghastly  eyes 
upon  the  Pyramid  Doctor.  “Woe— woe — woe  betide 
thee,  Splendiano  Accoramboni ! ” thus  the  terrible  spec- 
tres shrieked  in  deep,  sepulchral  tones.  Then  one  of 
them  wailed,  “ Do  you  know  me  ? do  you  know  me, 
Splendiano?  I am  Cordier,  the  French  painter,  who 
was  buried  last  week,  and  whom  your  medicaments 
brought  to  his  grave.”  Then  the  second,  “ Do  you 
know  me,  Splendiano  ? I am  Ktifner,  the  German 


124 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


painter,  whom  you  poisoned  with  your  infernal  electu- 
ary.” Then  the  third,  “ Do  you  know  me,  Splendiano  ? 
I am  Liers,  the  Fleming,  whom  you  killed  with  your 
pills,  and  whose  brother  you  defrauded  of  a picture.” 
Then  the  fourth,  “ Do  you  know  me,  Splendiano  ? I 
am  Ghigi,  the  Neapolitan  painter,  whom  you  de- 
spatched with  your  powders.”  And  lastly  all  four  to- 
gether, “Woe — woe — woe  upon  thee,  Splendiano  Ac- 
coramboni,  cursed  Pyramid  Doctor  ! We  bid  you  come 
— come  down  to  us  beneath  the  earth.  Away — away — 
away  with  you  ! Hallo  ! hallo  ! ” and  so  saying  they 
threw  themselves  upon  the  unfortunate  Doctor,  and, 
raising  him  in  their  arms,  whisked  him  away  like  a 
whirlwind. 

Now,  although  Signor  Pasquale  was  a good  deal 
overcome  by  terror,  yet  it  is  surprising  with  what  re- 
markable promptitude  he  recovered  courage  so  soon  as 
he  saw  that  it  was  only  his  friend  Accoramboni  with 
whom  the  spectres  were  concerned.  Pitichinaccio  had 
stuck  his  head,  with  the  flower-bed  that  was  on  it,  under 
Capuzzi’s  mantle,  and  clung  so  fast  round  his  neck  that 
all  efforts  to  shake  him  off  proved  futile. 

“ Pluck  up  your  spirits,”  Capuzzi  exhorted  Marianna, 
when  nothing  more  was  to  be  seen  of  the  spectres  or  of 
the  Pyramid  Doctor  ; “ pluck  up  your  spirits,  and  come 
to  me,  my  sweet  little  ducky  bird ! As  for  my  worthy 
friend  Splendiano,  it’s  all  over  with  him.  May  St. 
Bernard,  who  also  was  an  able  physician  and  gave 
many  a man  a lift  on  the  road  to  happiness,  may  he 
help  him,  if  the  revengeful  painters  whom  he  hastened 
to  get  to  his  Pyramid  break  his  neck  ! But  who’ll  sing 
the  bass  of  my  canzonas  now  ? And  this  booby,  Piti- 
chinaccio, is  squeezing  my  throat  so,  that,  adding  in 
the  fright  caused  by  Splendiano’s  abduction,  I fear  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  produce  a pure  note  for  perhaps 


SIGNOR  FORMICA.  125 

six  weeks  to  come.  Don’t  be  alarmed,  my  Marianna, 
my  darling  ! It’s  all  over  now.” 

She  assured  him  that  she  had  quite  recovered  from 
her  alarm,  and  begged  him  to  let  her  walk  alone  without 
support,  so  that  he  could  free  himself  from  his  trouble- 
some pet.  But  Signor  Pasquale  only  took  faster  hold  of 
her,  saying  that  he  wouldn’t  suffer  her  to  leave  his  side 
a yard  in  that  pitch  darkness  for  anything  in  the  world. 

In  the  very  same  moment  as  Signor  Pasquale,  now 
at  his  ease  again,  was  about  to  proceed  on  his  road, 
four  frightful  fiend-like  figures  rose  up  just  in  front  of 
him  as  if  out  of  the  earth  ; they  wore  short  flaring  red 
mantles  and  fixed  their  keen  glittering  eyes  upon  him, 
at  the  same  time  making  horrible  noises — yelling  and 
whistling.  “Ugh!  ugh!  Pasquale  Capuzzi ! You 
cursed  fool!  You  amorous  old  devil!  We  belong  to 
your  fraternity;  we  are  the  evil  spirits  of  love,  and 
have  come  to  carry  you  off  to  hell — to  hell-fire — you 
and  your  crony  Pitichinaccio.”  Thus  screaming,  the 
Satanic  figures  fell  upon  the  old  man.  Capuzzi  fell 
heavily  to  the  ground  and  Pitichinaccio  along  with 
him,  both  raising  a shrill  piercing  cry  of  distress  and 
fear,  like  that  of  a whole  troop  of  cudgelled  asses. 

Marianna  had  meanwhile  torn  herself  away  from  the 
old  man  and  leapt  aside.  Then  one  of  the  devils  clasped 
her  softly  in  his  arms,  whispering  the  sweet  glad  words, 
“O  Marianna!  my  Marianna!  At  last  we’ve  managed 
it  ! My  friends  will  carry  the  old  man  a long,  long  way 
from  here,  whilst  we  seek  a better  place  of  safety.” 

“O  my  Antonio  !”  whispered  Marianna  softly. 

But  suddenly  the  scene  was  illuminated  by  the  light 
of  several  torches,  and  Antonio  felt  a stab  in  his 
shoulder.  Quick  as  lightning  he  turned  round,  drew 
his  sword,  and  attacked  the  fellow,  who  with  his 
stiletto  upraised  was  just  preparing  to  aim  a second 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


126 

blow.  He  perceived  that  his  three  companions  were 
defending  themselves  against  a superior  number  of 
gendarmes.  He  managed  to  beat  off  the  fellow  who 
had  attacked  him,  and  joined  his  friends.  Although 
they  were  maintaining  their  ground  bravely,  the  con- 
test was  yet  too  unequal ; the  gendarmes  would  infal- 
libly have  proved  victorious  had  not  two  others  sud- 
denly ranged  themselves  with  a shout  on  the  side  of  the 
young  men,  one  of  them  immediately  cutting  down  the 
fellow  who  was  pressing  Antonio  the  hardest. 

In  a few  minutes  more  the  contest  was  decided 
against  the  police.  Several  lay  stretched  on  the  ground 
seriously  wounded ; the  rest  fled  with  loud  shouts 
towards  the  Porta  del  Popolo. 

Salvator  Rosa  (for  he  it  was  who  had  hastened  to  An- 
tonio’s assistance  and  cut  down  his  opponent)  wanted 
to  take  Antonio  and  the  young  painters  who  were  dis- 
guised in  the  devils’  masks  and  there  and  then  pursue 
the  gendarmes  into  the  city. 

Maria  Agli,  however,  who  had  come  along  with  him, 
and,  notwithstanding  his  advanced  age,  had  tackled 
the  police  as  stoutly  as  any  of  the  rest,  urged  that 
this  would  be  imprudent,  for  the  guard  at  the  Porta 
del  Popolo  would  be  certain  to  have  intelligence  of 
the  affair  and  would  arrest  them.  So  they  all  betook 
themselves  to  Nicolo  Musso,  who  gladly  received  them 
into  his  narrow  little  house  not  far  from  the  theatre. 
The  artists  took  off  their  devils’  masks  and  laid  aside 
their  mantles,  which  had  been  rubbed  over  with  phos- 
phorus, whilst  Antonio,  who,  beyond  the  insignificant 
scratch  on  his  shoulder,  was  not  wounded  at  all,  exer- 
cised his  surgical  skill  in  binding  up  the  wounds  of  the 
rest — Salvator,  Agli,  and  his  young  comrades — for  they 
had  none  of  them  got  off  without  being  wounded, 
though  none  of  them  in  the  least  degree  dangerously. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


127 


The  adventure,  notwithstanding  its  wildness  and  au- 
dacity, would  undoubtedly  have  been  successful,  had 
not  Salvator  and  Antonio  overlooked  one  person,  who 
upset  everything.  The  ci-devant  bravo  and  gendarme 
Michele,  who  dwelt  below  in  Capuzzi’s  house,  and  was 
in  a certain  sort  his  general  servant,  had,  in  accordance 
with  Capuzzi’s  directions,  followed  them  to  the  theatre, 
but  at  some  distance  off,  for  the  old  gentleman  was 
ashamed  of  the  tattered  reprobate.  In  the  same  way 
Michele  was  following  them  homewards.  And  when 
the  spectres  appeared,  Michele  who,  be  it  remarked, 
feared  neither  death  nor  devil,  suspecting  that  some- 
thing was  wrong,  hurried  back  as  fast  as  he  could  run 
in  the  darkness  to  the  Porta  del  Popolo,  raised  an 
alarm,  and  returned  with  all  the  gendarmes  he  could 
find,  just  at  the  moment  when,  as  we  know,  the  devils 
fell  upon  Signor  Pasquale,  and  were  about  to  carry  him 
off  as  the  dead  men  had  the  Pyramid  Doctor. 

In  the  very  hottest  moment  of  the  fight,  one  of  the 
young  painters  observed  distinctly  how  one  of  the  fel- 
lows, taking  Marianna  in  his  arms  (for  she  had  fainted), 
made  off  to  the  gate,  whilst  Signor  Pasquale  ran  after 
him  with  incredible  swiftness,  as  if  he  had  got  quick- 
silver in  his  legs.  At  the  same  time,  by  the  light  of  the 
torches,  he  caught  a glimpse  of  something  gleaming, 
clinging  to  his  mantle  and  whimpering  ; no  doubt  it  was 
Pitichinaccio. 

Next  morning  Doctor  Splendiano  was  found  near  the 
Pyramid  of  Cestius,  fast  asleep,  doubled  up  like  a ball 
and  squeezed  into  his  wig,  as  if  into  a warm  soft  nest. 
When  he  was  awakened,  he  rambled  in  his  talk,  and 
there  was  some  difficulty  in  convincing  him  that  he  was 
still  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  in  Rome  to  boot. 
And  when  at  length  he  reached  his  own  house,  he  re- 
turned thanks  to  the  Virgin  and  all  the  saints  for  his 


128 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


rescue,  threw  all  his  tinctures,  essences,  electuaries, 
and  powders  out  of  the  window,  burnt  his  prescriptions, 
and  vowed  to  heal  his  patients  in  the  future  by  no 
other  means  than  by  anointing  and  laying  on  of  hands, 
as  some  celebrated  physician  of  former  ages,  who  was 
at  the  same  time  a saint  (his  name  I cannot  recall  just 
at  this  moment),  had  with  great  success  done  before 
him.  For  his  patients  died  as  well  as  the  patients  of 
other  people,  and  then  they  already  saw  the  gates  of 
heaven  open  before  them  ere  they  died,  and  in  fact 
everything  else  that  the  saint  wanted  them  to  see. 

“I  can’t  tell  you,”  said  Antonio  next  day  to  Salvator, 
“ how  my  heart  boils  with  rage  since  my  blood  has  been 
spilled.  Death  and  destruction  overtake  that  villain 
Capuzzi  ! I tell  you,  Salvator,  that  I am  determined  to 
force  my  way  into  his  house.  I will  cut  him  down  if  he 
opposes  me  and  carry  off  Marianna.” 

“ An  excellent  plan  ! ” replied  Salvator,  laughing. 
“ An  excellent  plan  ! Splendidly  contrived  ! Of  course 
I presume  you  have  also  found  some  means  for  trans- 
porting Marianna  through  the  air  to  the  Spanish 
Square,  so  that  they  shall  not  seize  you  and  hang  you 
before  you  can  reach  that  place  of  refuge.  No,  my 
dear  Antonio,  violence  can  do  nothing  for  you  this 
time.  You  may  lay  your  life  on  it  too  that  Signor  Pas- 
quale  will  now  take  steps  to  guard  against  any  open  at- 
tack. Moreover,  our  adventure  has  made  a good  deal 
of  noise,  and  the  irrepressible  laughter  of  the  people  at 
the  absurd  way  in  which  we  have  read  a lesson  to 
Splendiano  and  Capuzzi  has  roused  the  police  out  of 
their  light  slumber,  and  they,  you  may  be  sure,  will 
now  exert  all  their  feeble  efforts  to  entrap  us.  No,  An- 
tonio, let  us  have  recourse  to  craft.  Con  arte  e con  in- 
gamio  si  vive  mezzo  I anno,  con  inganno  e con  arte  si  rive 
l altra  parte  (If  cunning  and  scheming  will  help  us  six 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


129 


months  through,  scheming  and  cunning  will  help  us  the 
other  six  too),  says  Dame  Caterina,  nor  is  she  far  wrong. 
Besides,  I can’t  help  laughing  to  see  how  we’ve  gone 
and  acted  for  all  the  world  like  thoughtless  boys,  and 
I shall  have  to  bear  most  of  the  blame,  for  I am  a good 
bit  older  than  you.  Tell  me  now,  Antonio,  supposing 
our  scheme  had  been  successful,  and  you  had  actually 
carried  off  Marianna  from  the  old  man,  where  would 
you  have  fled  to,  where  would  you  have  hidden  her, 
and  how  would  you  have  managed  to  get  united  to  her 
by  the  priest  before  the  old  man  could  interfere  to  pre- 
vent it  ? You  shall,  however,  in  a few  days,  really  and 
truly  run  away  with  your  Marianna.  I have  let  Nicolo 
Musso  as  well  as  Signor  Formica  into  all  the  secret,  and 
in  common  with  them  devised  a plan  which  can  scarcely 
fail.  So  cheer  up,  Antonio  ; Signor  Formica  will  help 
you.” 

“Signor  Formica?”  replied  Antonio  in  a tone  of  in- 
difference which  almost  amounted  to  contempt.  “ Sig- 
nor Formica  ! In  what  way  can  that  buffoon  help  me  ? ” 

“ Ho  ! ho  ! ” laughed  Salvator.  “ Please  to  bear  in 
mind,  I beg  you,  that  Signor  Formica  is  worthy  of  your 
respect.  Don’t  you  know  that  he  is  a sort  of  magician 
who  in  secret  is  master  of  the  most  mysterious  arts  ? I 
tell  you,  Signor  Formica  will  help  you.  Old  Maria 
Agli,  the  clever  Bolognese  Doctor  Gratiano,  is  also 
a sharer  in  the  plot,  and  will,  moreover,  have  an  im- 
portant part  to  play  in  it.  You  shall  abduct  your 
Marianna,  Antonio,  from  Musso’s  theatre.” 

“You  are  flattering  me  with  false  hopes,  Salvator,” 
said  Antonio.  “You  have  just  now  said  yourself  that 
Signor  Pasquale  will  take  care  to  avoid  all  open  attacks. 
How  can  you  suppose  then,  after  his  recent  unpleasant 
experience,  that  he  can  possibly  make  up  his  mind  to 
visit  Musso’s  theatre  again  ? ” 


13° 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


“ It  will  not  be  such  a difficult  thing  as  you  imagine 
to  entice  the  old  man  there,”  replied  Salvator.  “ What 
will  be  more  difficult  to  effect,  will  be,  to  get  him  in 
the  theatre  without  his  satellites.  But,  be  that  as  it 
may,  what  you  have  now  got  to  do,  Antonio,  is  to  have 
everything  prepared  and  arranged  with  Marianna,  so 
as  to  flee  from  Rome  the  moment  the  favourable  op- 
portunity comes.  You  must  go  to  Florence ; your 
skill  as  a painter  will,  after  your  arrival,  in  itself  rec- 
ommend you  there  ; and  you  shall  have  no  lack  of 
acquaintances,  nor  of  honourable  patronage  and  assist- 
ance— that  you  may  leave  to  me  to  provide  for.  After 
we  have  had  a few  days’  rest,  we  will  then  see  what  is 
to  be  done  further.  Once  more,  Antonio — live  in 
hope  ; Formica  will  help  you.” 


V. 

Of  the  new  mishap  which  befalls  Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi.  An- 
tonio Scacciati  successfully  carries  out  his  plan  in  Nicolo  Musso's 
theatre , and  flees  to  Florence. 

Signor  Pasquale  was  only  too  well  aware  who  had 
been  at  the  bottom  of  the  mischief  that  had  happened 
to  him  and  the  poor  Pyramid  Doctor  near  the  Porta 
del  Popolo,  and  so  it  may  be  imagined  how  enraged  he 
was  against  Antonio,  and  against  Salvator  Rosa,  whom 
he  rightly  judged  to  be  the  ringleader  in  it  all.  He 
was  untiring  in  his  efforts  to  comfort  poor  Marianna, 
who  was  quite  ill  from  fear, — so  she  said  ; but  in  reality 
she  was  mortified  that  the  scoundrel  Michele  with  his 
gendarmes  had  come  up,  and  torn  herfrom  her  Antonio's 
arms.  Meanwhile  Margaret  was  very  active  in  bring- 
ing her  tidings  of  her  lover  ; and  she  based  all  her  hopes 
upon  the  enterprising  mind  of  Salvator.  With  impa- 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


131 

tience  she  waited  from  day  to  day  for  something  fresh 
to  happen,  and  by  a thousand  petty  tormenting  ways 
let  the  old  gentleman  feel  the  effects  of  this  impatience  ; 
but  though  she  thus  tamed  his  amorous  folly  and  made 
him  humble  enough,  she  failed  to  reach  the  evil  spirit 
of  love  that  haunted  his  heart.  After  she  had  made 
him  experience  to  the  full  all  the  tricksy  humours  of 
the  most  wayward  girl,  and  then  suffered  him  just  once 
to  press  his  withered  lips  upon  her  tiny  hand,  he  would 
swear  in  his  excessive  delight  that  he  would  never 
cease  fervently  kissing  the  Pope’s  toe  until  he  had 
obtained  dispensation  to  wed  his  niece,  the  paragon  of 
beauty  and  amiability.  Marianna  was  particularly 
careful  not  to  interrupt  him  in  these  outbreaks  of 
passion,  for  by  encouraging  these  gleams  of  hope  in 
the  old  man’s  breast  she  fanned  the  flame  of  hope  in 
her  own,  for  the  more  he  could  be  lulled  into  the  belief 
that  he  held  her  fast  in  the  indissoluble  chains  of  love, 
the  more  easy  it  would  be  for  her  to  escape  him. 

Some  time  passed,  when  one  day  at  noon  Michele 
came  stamping  upstairs,  and,  after  he  had  had  to  knock 
a good  many  times  to  induce  Signor  Pasquale  to  open 
the  door,  announced  with  considerable  prolixity  that 
there  was  a gentleman  below  who  urgently  requested 
to  see  Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi,  who  he  knew  lived 
there. 

“ By  all  the  blessed  saints  of  Heaven  ! ” cried  the  old 
gentleman,  exasperated  ; “ doesn’t  the  knave  know 
that  on  no  account  do  I receive  strangers  in  my  own 
house  ? ” 

But  the  gentleman  was  of  very  respectable  appear- 
ance, reported  Michele,  rather  oldish,  talked  well,  and 
called  himself  Nicolo  Musso. 

“Nicolo  Musso,”  murmured  Capuzzi  reflectively; 
“Nicolo  Musso,  who  owns  the  theatre  beyond  the 


1 32 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


Porta  del  Popolo  ; what  can  he  want  with  me  ? " 
Whereupon,  carefully  locking  and  bolting  the  door,  he 
went  downstairs  with  Michele,  in  order  to  converse 
with  Nicolo  in  the  street  before  the  house. 

“ My  dear  Signor  Pasquale,”  began  Nicolo,  ap- 
proaching to  meet  him,  and  bowing  with  polished  ease, 
“ that  you  deign  to  honour  me  with  your  acquaintance 
affords  me  great  pleasure.  You  lay  me  under  a very 
great  obligation.  Since  the  Romans  saw  you  in  my 
theatre — you,  a man  of  the  most  approved  taste,  of  the 
soundest  knowledge,  and  a master  in  art,  not  only  has 
my  fame  increased,  but  my  receipts  have  doubled.  I 
am  therefore  all  the  more  deeply  pained  to  learn  that 
certain  wicked  wanton  boys  made  a murderous  attack 
upon  you  and  your  friends  as  you  were  returning  from 
my  theatre  at  night.  But  I pray  you,  Signor  Pasquale, 
by  all  the  saints,  don’t  cherish  any  grudge  against  me 
or  my  theatre  on  account  of  this  outrage,  which  shall 
be  severely  punished.  Don’t  deprive  me  of  the  honour 
of  your  company  at  my  performances  ! ” 

“ My  dear  Signor  Nicolo,”  replied  the  old  man,  sim- 
pering, “ be  assured  that  I never  enjoyed  myself  more 
than  I did  when  I visited  your  theatre.  Your  Formica 
and  your  Agli — why,  they  are  actors  who  cannot  be 
matched  anywhere.  But  the  fright  almost  killed  my 
friend  Signor  Splendiano  Accoramboni,  nay,  it  almost 
proved  the  death  of  me — no,  it  was  too  great  ; and 
though  it  has  not  made  me  averse  from  your  theatre, 
it  certainly  has  from  the  road  there.  If  you  will  put 
up  your  theatre  in  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  or  in  the  Via 
Babuina,  or  in  the  Via  Ripetta,  I certainly  will  not  fail 
to  visit  you  a single  evening  ; but  there’s  no  power  on 
earth  shall  ever  get  me  outside  the  Porta  del  Popolo  at 
night-time  again.” 

Nicolo  sighed  deeply,  as  if  greatly  troubled.  “ That 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


1 33 


is  very  hard  upon  me,”  said  he  then,  “harder  perhaps 
than  you  will  believe,  Signor  Pasquale.  For  unfortu- 
nately— I had  based  all  my  hopes  upon  you.  I came 
to  solicit  your  assistance.” 

“ My  assistance  ? ” asked  the  old  gentleman  in  as- 
tonishment. “ My  assistance,  Signor  Nicolo  ? In  what 
way  could  it  profit  you  ? ” 

“My  dear  Signor  Pasquale,”  replied  Nicolo,  drawing 
his  handkerchief  across  his  eyes,  as  if  brushing  away 
the  trickling  tears,  “ my  most  excellent  Signor  Pas- 
quale, you  will  remember  that  my  actors  are  in  the 
habit  of  interspersing  songs  through  their  perform- 
ances. This  practice  I was  thinking  of  extending  im- 
perceptibly more  and  more,  then  to  get  together  an 
orchestra,  and,  in  a word,  at  last,  eluding  all  prohibi- 
tions to  the  contrary,  to  establish  an  opera-house.  You, 
Signor  Capuzzi,  are  the  first  composer  in  all  Italy  ; and 
we  can  attribute  it  to  nothing  but  the  inconceivable 
frivolity  of  the  Romans  and  the  malicious  envy  of  your 
rivals  that  we  hear  anything  else  but  your  pieces  ex- 
clusively at  all  the  theatres.  Signor  Pasquale,  I came 
to  request  you  on  my  bended  knees  to  allow  me  to  put 
your  immortal  works,  as  far  as  circumstances  will  admit, 
on  my  humble  stage.” 

“ My  dear  Signor  Nicolo,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  his 
face  all  sunshine,  “what  are  we  about  to  be  talking 
here  in  the  public  street  ? Pray  deign  to  have  the  good- 
ness to  climb  up  one  or  two  rather  steep  flights  of  stairs. 
Come  along  with  me  up  to  my  poor  dwelling.” 

Almost  before  Nicolo  got  into  the  room,  the  old 
gentleman  brought  forward  a great  pile  of  dusty  music 
manuscript,  opened  it,  and,  taking  his  guitar  in  his 
hands,  began  to  deliver  himself  of  a series  of  frightful 
high-pitched  screams  which  he  denominated  singing. 

Nicolo  behaved  like  one  in  raptures.  He  sighed  ; he 


134 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


uttered  extravagant  expressions  of  approval  ; he  ex- 
claimed at  intervals,  “Bravo!  Bravissimo ! Benedettis - 
simo  Capuzzi  ! ” until  at  last  he  threw  himself  at  the  old 
man’s  feet  as  if  utterly  beside  himself  with  ecstatic  de- 
light, and  grasped  his  knees.  But  he  nipped  them  so 
hard  that  the  old  gentleman  jumped  off  his  seat,  calling 
out  with  pain,  and  saying  to  Nicolo,  “ By  the  saints  ! 
Let  me  go,  Signor  Nicolo  ; you’ll  kill  me.” 

“Nay,”  replied  Nicolo,  “nay,  Signor  Pasquale,  I will 
not  rise  until  you  have  promised  that  Formica  may 
sing  in  my  theatre  the  day  after  to-morrow  the  divine 
arias  which  you  have  just  executed.” 

“You  are  a man  of  taste,”  groaned  Pasquale, — “a 
man  of  deep  insight.  To  whom  could  I better  intrust 
my  compositions  than  to  you  ? You  shall  take  all  my 
arias  with  you.  Only  let  me  go.  But,  good  God  ! I 
shall  not  hear  them — my  divine  masterpieces  ! Oh  ! 
let  me  go,  Signor  Nicolo.” 

“No,”  cried  Nicolo,  still  on  his  knees,  and  tightly 
pressing  the  old  gentleman’s  thin  spindle-shanks  to- 
gether, “ no,  Signor  Pasquale,  I will  not  let  you  go  until 
you  give  me  your  word  that  you  will  be  present  in  my 
theatre  the  night  after  to-morrow.  You  need  not  fear 
any  new  attack  ! Why,  don’t  you  think  that  the  Ro- 
mans, once  they  have  heard  your  work,  will  bring  you 
home  in  triumph  by  the  light  of  hundreds  of  torches  ? 
But  in  case  that  does  not  happen,  I myself  and  my 
faithful  comrades  will  take  our  arms  and  accompany 
you  home  ourselves.” 

“You  yourself  will  accompany  me  home,  with  your 
comrades  ? ” asked  Pasquale  ; “ and  how  many  may 
that  be  ? ” 

“ Eight  or  ten  persons  will  be  at  your  command, 
Signor  Pasquale.  Do  yield  to  my  intercession  and 
resolve  to  come.” 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


135 


“ Formica  has  a fine  voice,”  lisped  Pasquale.  “ How 
finely  he  will  execute  my  arias.” 

“ Do  come,  oh  ! do  come ! ” exhorted  Nicolo  again, 
giving  the  old  gentleman’s  knees  an  extra  grip. 

“ You  will  pledge  yourself  that  I shall  reach  my 
own  house  without  being  molested  ? ” asked  the  old 
gentleman. 

“ I pledge  my  honour  and  my  life,”  was  Nicolo’s 
reply,  as  he  gave  the  knees  a still  sharper  grip. 

“ Agreed  ! ” cried  the  old  gentleman  ; “ I will  be  in 
your  theatre  the  day  after  to-morrow.” 

Then  Nicolo  leapt  to  his  feet  and  pressed  Pasquale 
in  so  close  an  embrace  that  he  gasped  and  panted  quite 
out  of  breath. 

At  this  moment  Marianna  entered  the  room.  Signor 
Pasquale  tried  to  frighten  her  away  again  by  the  look 
of  resentment  which  he  hurled  at  her  ; she,  however, 
took  not  the  slightest  notice  of  it,  but  going  straight 
up  to  Musso,  addressed  him  as  if  in  anger, — “ It  is  in 
vain  for  you,  Signor  Nicolo,  to  attempt  to  entice  my 
dear  uncle  to  go  to  your  theatre.  Yor  are  forgetting 
that  the  infamous  trick  lately  played  by  some  reprobate 
seducers,  who  were  lying  in  wait  for  me,  almost  cost 
the  life  of  my  dearly  beloved  uncle,  and  of  his  worthy 
friend  Splendiano  ; nay,  that  it  almost  cost  my  life  too. 
Never  will  I give  my  consent  to  my  uncle’s  again  ex- 
posing himself  to  such  danger.  Desist  from  your  en- 
treaties, Nicolo.  And  you,  my  dearest  uncle,  you  will 
stay  quietly  at  home,  will  you  not,  and  not  venture  out 
beyond  the  Porta  del  Popolo  again  at  night-time,  which 
is  a friend  to  nobody  ? ” 

Signor  Pasquale  was  thunderstruck.  He  opened 
his  eyes  wide  and  stared  at  his  niece.  Then  he  re- 
warded her  with  the  sweetest  endearments,  and  set 
forth  at  considerable  length  how  that  Signor  Nicolo 


136 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


had  pledged  himself  so  to  arrange  matters  as  co  avoid 
every  danger  on  the  return  home. 

“ None  the  less,”  said  Marianna,  “ I stick  to  my  word, 
and  beg  you  most  earnestly,  my  dearest  uncle,  not  to 
go  to  the  theatre  outside  the  Porta  del  Popolo.  I ask 
your  pardon,  Signor  Nicolo,  for  speaking  out  frankly 
in  your  presence  the  dark  suspicion  that  lurks  in  my 
mind.  You  are,  I know,  acquainted  with  Salvator  Rosa 
and  also  with  Antonio  Scacciati.  What  if  you  are  act- 
ing in  concert  with  our  enemies  ? What  if  you  are  only 
trying  with  evil  intent  to  entice  my  dear  uncle  into 
your  theatre  in  order  that  they  may  the  more  safely 
carry  out  some  fresh  villainous  scheme,  for  I know  that 
my  uncle  will  not  go  without  me  ? ” 

“What  a suspicion!”  cried  Nicolo,  quite  alarmed. 
“ What  a terrible  suspicion,  Signora  ! Have  you  such 
a bad  opinion  of  me  ? Have  I such  an  ill  reputation 
that  you  conceive  I could  be  guilty  of  this  the  basest 
treachery  ? But  if  you  think  so  unfavourably  of  me, 
if  you  mistrust  the  assistance  I have  promised  you, 
why  then  let  Michele,  who  I know  rescued  you  out  of 
the  hands  of  the  robbers — let  Michele  accompany  you, 
and  let  him  take  a large  body  of  gendarmes  with  him, 
who  can  wait  for  you  outside  the  theatre,  for  you  can- 
not of  course  expect  me  to  fill  my  auditorium  with 
police.” 

Marianna  fixed  her  eyes  steadily  upon  Nicolo's,  and 
then  said,  earnestly  and  gravely,  “ What  do  you  say  ? 
That  Michele  and  gendarmes  shall  accompany  us  ? 
Now  I see  plainly,  Signor  Nicolo,  that  you  mean 
honestly  by  us,  and  that  my  nasty  suspicion  is  un- 
founded. Pray  forgive  me  my  thoughtless  words. 
And  yet  I cannot  banish  my  nervousness  and  anxiety 
about  my  dear  uncle  ; I must  still  beg  him  not  to  take 
this  dangerous  step.” 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


1 37 


Signor  Pasquale  had  listened  to  all  this  conversation 
with  such  curious  looks  as  plainly  served  to  indicate 
the  nature  of  the  struggle  that  was  going  on  within 
him.  But  now  he  could  no  longer  contain  himself  ; 
he  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  his  beautiful 
niece,  seized  her  hands,  kissed  them,  bathed  them  with 
the  tears  which  ran  down  his  cheeks,  exclaiming  as  if 
beside  himself,  “ My  adored,  my  angelic  Marianna ! 
Fierce  and  devouring  are  the  flames  of  the  passion 
which  burns  at  my  heart.  Oh  ! this  nervousness,  this 
anxiety — it  is  indeed  the  sweetest  confession  that  you 
love  me."  And  then  he  besought  her  not  to  give  way 
to  fear,  but  to  go  and  listen  in  the  theatre  to  the  finest 
arias  which  the  most  divine  of  composers  had  ever 
written. 

Nicolo  too  abated  not  in  his  entreaties,  plainly 
showing  his  disappointment,  until  Marianna  permitted 
her  scruples  to  be  overcome  ; and  she  promised  to  lay 
all  fear  aside  and  accompany  the  best  and  dearest  of 
uncles  to  the  theatre  outside  the  Porta  del  Popolo. 
Signor  Pasquale  was  in  ectasies,  was  in  the  seventh 
heaven  of  delight.  He  was  convinced  that  Marianna 
loved  him  ; and  he  now  might  hope  to  hear  his  music 
on  the  stage,  and  win  the  laurel  wreath  which  had  so 
long  been  the  vain  object  of  his  desires  ; he  was  on 
the  point  of  seeing  his  dearest  dreams  fulfilled.  Now 
he  would  let  his  light  shine  in  perfect  glory  before  his 
true  and  faithful  friends,  for  he  never  thought  for  a 
moment  but  that  Signor  Splendiano  and  little  Piti- 
chinaccio  would  go  with  him  as  on  the  first  occasion. 

The  night  that  Signor  Splendiano  had  slept  in  his 
wig  near  the  Pyramid  of  Cestius  he  had  had,  besides 
the  spectres  who  ran  away  with  him,  all  sorts  of  sinister 
apparitions  to  visit  him.  The  whole  cemetery  wTas 
alive,  and  hundreds  of  corpses  had  stretched  out  their 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


138 

skeleton  arms  towards  him,  moaning  and  wailing  that 
even  in  their  graves  they  could  not  get  over  the  torture 
caused  by  his  essences  and  electuaries.  Accordingly 
the  Pyramid  Doctor,  although  he  could  not  contradict 
Signor  Pasquale  that  it  was  only  a wild  freakish  tricx 
played  upon  him  by  a parcel  of  godless  boys,  grew 
melancholy  ; and,  albeit  not  ordinarily  superstitiously 
inclined,  he  yet  now  saw  spectres  everywhere,  and  was 
tormented  by  forebodings  and  bad  dreams. 

As  for  Pitichinaccio,  he  could  not  be  convinced  that 
they  were  not  real  devils  come  straight  from  the  flames 
of  hell  who  had  fallen  upon  Signor  Pasquale  and  upon 
himself,  and  the  bare  mention  of  that  dreadful  night 
was  enough  to  make  him  scream.  All  the  asseverations 
of  Signor  Pasquale  that  there  had  been  nobody  behind 
the  masks  but  Antonio  Scacciati  and  Salvator  Rosa 
were  of  none  effect,  for  Pitichinaccio  wept  and  swore 
that  in  spite  of  his  terror  and  apprehension  he  had 
clearly  recognised  both  the  voice  and  the  behaviour  of 
the  devil  Fanfarelli  in  the  one  who  had  pinched  his 
belly  black  and  blue. 

It  may  therefore  be  imagined  what  an  almost  end- 
less amount  of  trouble  it  cost  Signor  Pasquale  to  per- 
suade the  two  to  go  with  him  once  more  to  Nicolo 
Musso’s  theatre.  Splendiano  was  the  first  to  make  the 
resolve  to  go, — after  he  had  procured  from  a monk  of 
St.  Bernard's  order  a small  consecrated  bag  of  musk, 
the  perfume  of  which  neither  dead  man  nor  devil  could 
endure  ; with  this  he  intended  to  arm  himself  against 
all  assaults.  Pitichinaccio  could  not  resist  the  temp- 
tation of  a promised  box  of  candied  grapes,  but  Signor 
Pasquale  had  besides  expressly  to  give  his  consent  that 
he  might  wear  his  new  abbot’s  coat,  instead  of  his  pet- 
ticoats, which  he  affirmed  had  proved  an  immediate 
source  of  attraction  to  the  devil. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


139 


What  Saivator  feared  seemed  therefore  as  if  it  would 
really  take  place  ; and  yet  his  plan  depended  entirely, 
he  continued  to  repeat,  upon  Signor  Pasquale’s  being 
in  Nicolo’s  theatre  alone  with  Marianna,  without  his 
faithful  satellites.  Both  Antonio  and  Salvator  greatly 
racked  their  brains  how  they  should  prevent  Splen- 
diano  and  Pitichinaccio  from  going  along  with  Signor 
Pasquale.  Every  scheme  that  occurred  to  them  for  the 
accomplishment  of  this  desideratum  had  to  be  given  up 
owing  to  want  of  time,  for  the  principal  plan  in  Nicolo’s 
theatre  had  to  be  carried  out  on  the  evening  of  the  fol- 
lowing day. 

But  Providence,  which  often  employs  the  most  un- 
likely instruments  for  the  chastisement  of  fools,  inter- 
posed on  behalf  of  the  distressed  lovers,  and  put  it  into 
Michele’s  head  to  practise  some  of  his  blundering,  thus 
accomplishing  what  Salvator  and  Antonio’s  craft  was 
unable  to  accomplish. 

That  same  night  there  was  heard  in  the  Via  Ripetta 
before  Signor  Pasquale’s  house  such  a chorus  of  fearful 
screams  and  of  cursing  and  raving  and  abuse  that  all 
the  neighbours  were  startled  up  out  of  their  sleep,  and  a 
body  of  gendarmes,  who  had  been  pursuing  a murderer 
as  far  as  the  Spanish  Square,  hastened  up  with  torches, 
supposing  that  some  fresh  deed  of  violence  was  being 
committed.  But  when  they,  and  a crowd  of  other  peo- 
ple whom  the  noise  had  attracted,  came  upon  the  an- 
ticipated scene  of  murder,  they  found  poor  little  Piti- 
chinaccio lying  as  if  dead  on  the  ground,  whilst  Michele 
was  thrashing  the  Pyramid  Doctor  with  a formidable 
bludgeon.  And  they  saw  the  Doctor  reel  to  the  floor 
just  at  the  moment  when  Signor  Pasquale  painfully 
scrambled  to  his  feet,  drew  his  rapier,  and  furiously  at- 
tacked Michele.  Round  about  were  lying  pieces  of 
broken  guitars.  Had  not  several  people  grasped  the  old 


140 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


man’s  arm  he  would  assuredly  have  run  Michele  right 
through  the  heart.  The  ex-bravo,  on  now  becoming 
aware  by  the  light  of  the  torches  whom  he  had  been 
molesting,  stood  as  if  petrified,  his  eyes  almost  starting 
out  of  his  head,  “ a painted  desperado,  on  the  balance 
between  will  and  power,”  as  it  is  said  somewhere. 
Then,  uttering  a fearful  scream,  he  tore  his  hair  and 
begged  for  pardon  and  mercy.  Neither  the  Pyramid 
Doctor  nor  Pitichinaccio  was  seriously  injured,  but  they 
had  been  so  soundly  cudgelled  that  they  could  neither 
move  nor  stir,  and  had  to  be  carried  home. 

Signor  Pasquale  had  himself  brought  this  mishap 
upon  his  own  shoulders. 

We  know  that  Salvator  and  Antonio  complimented 
Marianna  with  the  finest  serenade  that  could  be  heard  ; 
but  I have  forgotten  to  say  that  to  the  old  gentleman’s 
very  exceeding  indignation  they  repeated  it  during 
several  successive  nights.  At  length  Signor  Pasquale 
whose  rage  was  kept  in  check  by  his  neighbours,  was 
foolish  enough  to  have  recourse  to  the  authorities  of 
the  city,  urging  them  to  forbid  the  two  painters  to  sing 
in  the  Via  Ripetta.  The  authorities,  however,  replied 
that  it  would  be  a thing  unheard  of  in  Rome  to  prevent 
anybody  from  singing  and  playing  the  guitar  where  he 
pleased,  and  it  was  irrational  to  ask  such  a thing.  So 
Signor  Pasquale  determined  to  put  an  end  to  the 
nuisance  himself,  and  promised  Michele  a large  reward 
if  he  seized  the  first  opportunity  to  fall  upon  the  sing- 
ers and  give  them  a good  sound  drubbing.  Michele 
at  once  procured  a stout  bludgeon,  and  lay  in  wait 
every  night  behind  the  door.  But  it  happened  that 
Salvator  and  Antonio  judged  it  prudent  to  omit  their 
serenading  in  the  Via  Ripetta  for  some  nights  preceding 
the  carrying  into  execution  of  their  plan,  so  as  not  to 
remind  the  old  gentleman  of  his  adversaries.  Marianna 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


141 

remarked  quite  innocently  that  though  she  hated  An- 
tonio and  Salvator,  yet  she  liked  their  singing,  for  noth- 
ing was  so  nice  as  to  hear  music  floating  upwards  in 
the  night  air. 

This  Signor  Pasquale  made  a mental  note  of,  and  as 
the  essence  of  gallantry  purposed  to  surprise  his  love 
with  a serenade  on  his  part,  which  he  had  himself  com- 
posed and  carefully  practised  up  with  his  faithful 
friends.  On  the  very  night  preceding  that  in  which  he 
was  hoping  to  celebrate  his  greatest  triumph  in  Nicolo 
Musso’s  theatre,  he  stealthily  slipped  out  of  the  house 
and  went  and  fetched  his  associates,  with  whom  he  had 
previously  arranged  matters.  But  no  sooner  had  they 
sounded  the  first  few  notes  on  their  guitars  than 
Michele,  whom  Signor  Pasquale  had  thoughtlessly  for- 
gotten to  apprise  of  his  design,  burst  forth  from  behind 
the  door,  highly  delighted  at  finding  that  the  oppor- 
tunity which  was  to  bring  him  in  the  promised  reward 
had  at  last  come,  and  began  to  cudgel  the  musicians 
most  unmercifully,  with  the  results  of  which  we  are 
already  acquainted.  Of  course  there  was  no  further 
mention  made  of  either  Splendiano  or  Pitichinaccio’s 
accompanying  Signor  Pasquale  to  Nicolo’s  theatre,  for 
they  were  both  confined  to  their  bed  beplastered  all 
over.  Signor  Pasquale,  however,  was  unable  to  stay 
away,  although  his  back  and  shoulders  were  smarting 
not  a little  from  the  drubbing  he  had  himself  received  ; 
every  note  in  his  arias  was  a cord  which  drew  him 
thither  with  irresistible  power. 

“Well  now,”  said  Salvator  to  Antonio,  “since  the 
obstacle  which  we  took  to  be  insurmountable  has  been 
removed  out  of  our  way  of  itself,  it  all  depends  now 
entirely  upon  your  address  not  to  let  the  favourable 
moment  slip  for  carrying  off  your  Marianna  from 
Nicolo’s  theatre.  But  I needn’t  talk,  you’ll  not  fail  ; I 


142 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


will  greet  you  now  as  the  betrothed  of  Capuzzi’s  lovely 
niece,  who  in  a few  days  will  be  your  wife.  I wish  you 
happiness,  Antonio,  and  yet  I feel  a shiver  run  through 
me  when  I think  upon  your  marriage.” 

“What  do  you  mean,  Salvator?”  asked  Antonio, 
utterly  astounded. 

“ Call  it  a crotchet,  call  it  a foolish  fancy,  or  what 
you  will,  Antonio,”  rejoined  Salvator, — “at  any  rate  I 
love  the  fair  sex ; but  there  is  not  one,  not  even  she  on 
whom  I foolishly  dote,  for  whom  I would  gladly  die, 
but  what  excites  in  my  heart,  so  soon  as  I think  of  a 
union  with  her  such  as  marriage  is,  a suspicion  that 
makes  me  tremble  with  a most  unpleasant  feeling  of 
awe.  That  which  is  inscrutable  in  the  nature  of  woman 
mocks  all  the  weapons  of  man.  She  whom  we  believe 
to  have  surrendered  herself  to  us  entirely,  heart  and 
soul,  whom  we  believe  to  have  unfolded  all  her  char- 
acter to  us,  is  the  first  to  deceive  us,  and  along  with  the 
sweetest  of  her  kisses  we  imbibe  the  most  pernicious  of 
poisons.” 

“And  my  Marianna  ?”  asked  Antonio,  amazed. 

“Pardon  me,  Antonio,”  continued  Salvator,  “even 
your  Marianna,  who  is  loveliness  and  grace  personified, 
has  given  me  a fresh  proof  of  how  dangerous  the 
mysterious  nature  of  woman  is  to  us.  Just  call  to 
mind  what  was  the  behavior  of  that  innocent,  inexperi- 
enced child  when  we  carried  her  uncle  home,  how  at  a 
single  glance  from  me  she  divined  everything — every- 
thing, I tell  you,  and,  as  you  yourself  admitted,  pro- 
ceeded to  play  her  part  with  the  utmost  sagacity.  But 
that  is  not  to  be  at  all  compared  with  what  took  place 
on  the  occasion  of  Musso’s  visit  to  the  old  gentleman. 
The  most  practised  address,  the  most  impenetrable 
cunning, — in  short,  all  the  inventive  arts  of  the  most 
experienced  woman  of  the  world  could  not  have  done 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


143 


more  than  little  Marianna  did,  in  order  to  deceive  the 
old  gentleman  with  perfect  success.  She  could  not 
have  acted  in  any  better  way  to  prepare  the  road  for  us 
for  any  kind  of  enterprise.  Our  feud  with  the  cranky 
old  fool — any  sort  of  cunning  scheme  seems  justified, 
but — come,  my  dear  Antonio,  never  mind  my  fanciful 
crotchets,  but  be  happy  with  your  Marianna  ; as  happy 
as  you  can.” 

If  a monk  had  taken  his  place  beside  Signor  Pas- 
quale  when  he  set  out  along  with  his  niece  to  go  to 
Nicolo  Musso’s  theatre,  everybody  would  have  thought 
that  the  strange  pair  were  being  led  to  execution. 
First  went  valiant  Michele,  repulsive  in  appearance, 
and  armed  to  the  teeth  ; then  came  Signor  Pasquale 
and  Marianna,  followed  by  fully  twenty  gendarmes. 

Nicolo  received  the  old  gentleman  and  his  lady  with 
every  mark  of  respect  at  the  entrance  to  the  theatre, 
and  conducted  them  to  the  seats  which  had  been 
reserved  for  them,  immediately  in  front  of  the  stage. 
Signor  Pasquale  felt  highly  flattered  by  this  mark  of 
honour,  and  gazed  about  him  with  proud  and  sparkling 
eyes,  whilst  his  pleasure,  his  joy,  was  greatly  enhanced 
to  find  that  all  the  seats  near  and  behind  Marianna 
were  occupied  by  women  alone.  A couple  of  violins 
and  a bass-fiddle  were  being  tuned  behind  the  curtains 
of  the  stage  ; the  old  gentleman’s  heart  beat  with  ex- 
pectation ; and  when  all  at  once  the  orchestra  struck 
up  the  rito niello  of  his  work,  he  felt  an  electric  thrill 
tingling  in  every  nerve. 

Formica  came  forward  in  the  character  of  Pasqua- 
rello,  and  sang — sang  in  Capuzzi’s  own  voice,  and  with 
all  his  characteristic  gestures,  the  most  hopeless  aria 
that  ever  was  heard.  The  theatre  shook  with  the  loud 
and  boisterous  laughter  of  the  audience.  They  shouted  ; 
they  screamed  wildly,  “ O Pasquale  Capuzzi ! Our 


144 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


most  illustrious  composer  and  artist  ! Bravo  ! Bravis- 
simo ! ” The  old  gentleman,  not  perceiving  the  ridicule 
and  irony  of  the  laughter,  was  in  raptures  of  delight. 
The  aria  came  to  an  end,  and  the  people  cried  “ Sh  ! 
sh  ! ” for  Doctor  Gratiano,  played  on  this  occasion  bv 
Nicolo  Musso  himself,  appeared  on  the  stage,  holding 
his  hands  over  his  ears  and  shouting  to  Pasquarello  for 
goodness’  sake  to  stop  his  ridiculous  screeching. 

Then  the  Doctor  asked  Pasquarello  how  long  he  had 
taken  to  the  confounded  habit  of  singing,  and  where 
he  had  got  that  execrable  piece  from. 

Whereupon  Pasquarello  replied,  that  he  didn’t  know 
what  the  Doctor  would  have  ; he  was  like  the  Romans, 
and  had  no  taste  for  real  music,  since  he  failed  to 
recognise  the  most  talented  of  musicians.  The  aria 
had  been  written  by  the  greatest  of  living  composers, 
in  whose  service  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  be,  re- 
ceiving instruction  in  both  music  and  singing  from 
the  master  himself. 

Gratiano  then  began  guessing,  and  mentioned  the 
names  of  a great  number  of  well-known  composers  and 
musicians,  but  at  every  distinguished  name  Pasquarello 
only  shook  his  head  contemptuously. 

At  length  Pasquarello  said  that  the  Doctor  was  only 
exposing  gross  ignorance,  since  he  did  not  know  the 
name  of  the  greatest  composer  of  the  time.  It  was  no 
other  than  Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi,  who  had  done  him 
the  honour  of  taking  him  into  his  service.  Could  he 
not  see  that  he  was  the  friend  and  servant  of  Signor 
Pasquale  ? 

Then  the  Doctor  broke  out  into  a loud  long  roar  of 
laughter,  and  cried,  What ! Had  he  (Pasquarello)  after 
running  away  from  him  (the  Doctor),  with  whom,  be- 
sides getting  his  wages  and  food,  he  had  had  his  palm 
tickled  with  many  a copper,  had  he  gone  and  taken 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


»45 


service  with  the  biggest  and  most  inveterate  old  cox- 
comb who  ever  stuffed  himself  with  macaroni,  to  the 
patched  Carnival  fool  who  strutted  about  like  a satis- 
fied old  hen  after  a shower  of  rain,  to  the  snarling  skin- 
flint, the  love-sick  old  poltroon,  who  infected  the  air 
of  the  Via  Ripetta  with  the  disgusting  bleating  which 
he  called  singing  ? &c.,  &c. 

To  which  Pasquarello,  quite  incensed,  made  reply 
that  it  was  nothing  but  envy  which  spoke  in  the  Doc- 
tor’s words  ; he  (Pasquarello)  was  of  course  speaking 
with  his  heart  in  his  mouth  ( parla  col  cuore  in  mano ) ; 
the  Doctor  was  not  at  all  the  man  to  pass  an  opinion 
upon  Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi  di  Senigaglia  ; he  was 
speaking  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth.  The  Doctor  him- 
self had  a strong  tang  of  all  that  he  blamed  in  the  ex- 
cellent Signor  Pasquale  ; but  he  was  speaking  with  his 
heart  in  his  mouth  ; he  (Pasquarello)  had  himself  often 
heard  fully  six  hundred  people  at  once  laugh  most 
heartily  at  Doctor  Gratiano,  and  so  forth.  Then  Pas- 
quarello spoke  a long  panegyric  upon  his  new  master, 
Signor  Pasquale,  attributing  to  him  all  the  virtues 
under  the  sun  ; and  he  concluded  with  a description 
of  his  character,  which  he  portrayed  as  being  the  very 
essence  of  amiability  and  grace. 

“ Heaven  bless  you,  Formica  ! ” lisped  Signor  Cap- 
uzzi to  himself  ; “ Heaven  bless  you,  Formica  ! I per- 
ceive you  have  designed  to  make  my  triumph  perfect, 
since  you  are  upbraiding  the  Romans  for  all  their  en- 
vious and  ungrateful  persecution  of  me,  and  are  letting 
them  know  who  I really  am.” 

“ Ha ! here  comes  my  master  himself,”  cried  Pas- 
quarello at  this  moment,  and  there  entered  on  the  stage 
— Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi  himself,  just  as  he  breathed 
and  walked,  his  very  clothes,  face,  gestures,  gait,  post' 
ures,  in  fact  so  perfectly  like  Signor  Capuzzi  in  the 


146 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


auditorium,  that  the  latter,  quite  aghast,  let  go  Mari- 
anna’s hand,  which  hitherto  he  had  held  fast  in  his  own, 
and  tapped  himself,  his  nose,  his  wig,  in  order  to  dis- 
cover whether  he  was  not  dreaming,  or  seeing  double, 
whether  he  was  really  sitting  in  Nicolo  Musso’s  theatre 
and  dare  credit  the  miracle. 

Capuzzi  on  the  stage  embraced  Doctor  Gratiano  with 
great  kindness,  and  asked  how  he  was.  The  Doctor 
replied  that  he  had  a good  appetite,  and  slept  soundly, 
at  his  service  ( per  servirlo)  ; and  as  for  his  purse — well, 
it  was  suffering  from  a galloping  consumption.  Only 
yesterday  he  had  spent  his  last  ducat  for  a pair  of  rose- 
mary-coloured stockings  for  his  sweetheart,  and  was 
just  going  to  walk  round  to  one  or  two  bankers  to  see 
if  he  could  borrow  thirty  ducats  ” 

“ But  how  can  you  pass  over  your  best  friends  ? ” 
said  Capuzzi.  “ Here,  my  dear  sir,  here  are  fifty 
ducats,  come  take  them.” 

“ Pasquale,  what  are  you  about  ? ” said  the  real 
Capuzzi  in  an  undertone. 

Dr.  Gratiano  began  to  talk  about  a bond  and  about 
interest ; but  Signor  Capuzzi  declared  that  he  could 
not  think  of  asking  for  either  from  such  a friend  as  the 
Doctor  was. 

“ Pasquale,  have  you  gone  out  of  your  senses  ? ” 
exclaimed  the  real  Capuzzi  a little  louder. 

After  many  grateful  embraces  Doctor  Gratiano  took 
his  leave.  Now  Pasquarello  drew  near  with  a good 
many  bows,  and  extolled  Signor  Capuzzi  to  the  skies, 
adding,  however,  that  his  purse  was  suffering  from  the 
same  complaint  as  Gratiano's,  and  he  begged  for  some 
of  the  same  excellent  medicine  that  had  cured  his.  Ca- 
puzzi on  the  stage  laughed,  and  said  he  was  pleased  to 
find  that  Pasquarello  knew  how  to  turn  his  good  humour 
to  advantage,  and  threw  him  several  glittering  ducats. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


147 


“ Pasquale,  you  must  be  mad,  possessed  of  the  devil,” 
cried  the  real  Capuzzi  aloud.  He  was  bidden  be  still. 

Pasquarello  went  still  further  in  his  eulogy  of  Ca- 
puzzi, and  came  at  last  to  speak  of  the  aria  which  he 
(Capuzzi)  had  composed,  and  with  which  he  (Pas- 
quarello) hoped  to  enchant  everybody.  The  fictitious 
Capuzzi  clapped  Pasquarello  heartily  on  the  back, 
and  went  on  to  say  that  he  might  venture  to  tell  him 
(Pasquarello),  his  faithful  servant,  in  confidence,  that 
in  reality  he  knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  science  of 
music,  and  in  respect  to  the  aria  of  which  he  had  just 
spoken,  as  well  as  all  pieces  that  he  had  ever  composed, 
why,  he  had  stolen  them  out  of  Frescobaldi’s  canzonas 
and  Carissimi’s  motets. 

“ I tell  you  you’re  lying  in  your  throat,  you  knave,” 
shouted  the  Capuzzi  off  the  stage,  rising  from  his  seat. 
Again  he  was  bidden  keep  still,  and  the  woman  who 
sat  next  him  drew  him  down  on  the  bench. 

“ It’s  now  time  to  think  about  other  and  more  im- 
portant matters,”  continued  Capuzzi  on  the  stage. 
He  was  going  to  give  a grand  banquet  the  next  day, 
and  Pasquarello  must  look  alive  and  have  everything 
that  was  necessary  prepared.  Then  he  produced  and 
read  over  a list  of  all  the  rarest  and  most  expensive 
dishes,  making  Pasquarello  tell  him  how  much  each 
would  cost,  and  at  the  same  time  giving  him  the  money 
for  them. 

“Pasquale!  You’re  insane ! You’ve  gone  mad ! You 
good-for-nothing  scamp!  You  spendthrift!”  shouted 
the  real  Capuzzi  at  intervals,  growing  more  and  more 
enraged  the  higher  the  cost  of  this  the  most  nonsensical 
of  dinners  rose. 

At  length,  when  the  list  was  finished,  Pasquarello 
asked  what  had  induced  him  to  give  such  a splendid 
banquet. 


148 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


“To-morrow  will  be  the  happiest  and  most  joyous 
day  of  my  life,”  replied  the  fictitious  Capuzzi.  “For 
know,  my  good  Pasquarello,  that  I am  going  to 
celebrate  to-morrow  the  auspicious  marriage  of  my 
dear  niece  Marianna.  I am  going  to  give  her  hand 
to  that  brave  young  fellow,  the  best  of  all  artists, 
Scacciati.” 

Hardly  had  the  words  fallen  from  his  lips  when  the 
real  Capuzzi  leapt  to  his  feet,  utterly  beside  himself, 
quite  out  of  his  mind,  his  face  all  aflame  with  the  most 
fiendish  rage,  and  doubling  his  fists  and  shaking  them 
at  his  counterpart  on  the  stage,  he  yelled  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  “No,  you  won’t,  no,  you  won’t,  you  rascal! 
you  scoundrel,  you, — Pasquale ! Do  you  mean  to  cheat 
yourself  out  of  your  Marianna,  you  hound  ? Are  you 
going  to  throw  her  in  the  arms  of  that  scoundrel, — 
sweet  Marianna,  thy  life,  thy  hope,  thy  all  ? Ah  ! look 
to  it ! Look  to  it ! you  infatuated  fool.  Just  remem- 
ber what  sort  of  a reception  you  will  meet  with  from 
yourself.  You  shall  beat  yourself  black  and  blue  with 
your  own  hands,  so  that  you  will  have  no  relish  to 
think  about  banquets  and  weddings  ! ” 

But  the  Capuzzi  on  the  stage  doubled  his  fists  like  the 
Capuzzi  below,  and  shouted  in  exactly  the  same  furious 
way,  and  in  the  same  high-pitched  voice,  “ May  all  the 
spirits  of  hell  sit  at  your  heart,  you  abominable  non- 
sensical Pasquale,  you  atrocious  skinflint — you  love-sick 
old  fool — you  gaudy  tricked-out  ass  with  the  cap  and 
bells  dangling  about  your  ears.  Take  care  lest  I snuff 
out  the  candle  of  your  life,  and  so  at  length  put  an  end 
to  the  infamous  tricks  which  you  try  to  foist  upon  the 
good,  honest,  modest  Pasquale  Capuzzi.” 

Amidst  the  most  fearful  cursing  and  swearing  of  the 
real  Capuzzi,  the  one  on  the  stage  dished  up  one  fine 
anecdote  after  the  other  about  him. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


149 


“You’d  better  attempt,”  shouted  at  last  the  fictitious 
Capuzzi,  “ you  only  dare,  Pasquale,  you  amorous  old 
ape,  to  interfere  with  the  happiness  of  these  two  young 
people,  whom  Heaven  has  destined  for  each  other.” 

At  this  moment  there  appeared  at  the  back  of  the 
stage  Antonio  Scacciati  and  Marianna  locked  in  each 
other’s  arms.  Albeit  the  old  gentleman  was  at  other 
times  somewhat  feeble  on  his  legs,  yet  now  fury  gave 
him  strength  and  agility.  With  a single  bound  he  was 
on  the  stage,  had  drawn  his  sword,  and  was  charging 
upon  the  pretended  Antonio.  He  found,  however,  that 
he  was  held  fast  behind.  An  officer  of  the  Papal  guard 
had  stopped  him,  and  said  in  a serious  voice,  “ Recollect 
where  you  are,  Signor  Pasquale  ; you  are  in  Nicolo 
Musso’s  theatre.  Without  intending  it,  you  have  to- 
day played  a most  ridiculous  role.  You  will  not  find 
either  Antonio  or  Marianna  here.”  The  two  persons 
whom  Capuzzi  had  taken  for  his  niece  and  her  lover  now 
drew  near,  along  with  the  rest  of  the  actors.  The  faces 
were  all  completely  strange  to  him.  His  rapier  escaped 
from  his  trembling  hand  ; he  took  a deep  breath  as  if 
awakening  out  of  a bad  dream  ; he  grasped  his  brow 
with  both  hands  ; he  opened  his  eyes  wide.  The  pre- 
sentiment of  what  had  happened  suddenly  struck  him, 
and  he  shouted,  “ Marianna  ! ” in  such  a stentorian 
voice  that  the  walls  rang  again. 

But  she  was  beyond  reach  of  his  shouts.  Antonio  had 
taken  advantage  of  the  opportunity  whilst  Pasquale, 
oblivious  of  all  about  him  and  even  of  himself,  was  quar- 
relling with  his  double,  to  make  his  way  to  Marianna, 
and  back  with  her  through  the  audience,  and  out  at  a 
side  door,  where  a carriage  stood  ready  waiting  ; and 
away  they  went  as  fast  as  their  horses  could  gallop  to- 
wards Florence. 

“Marianna!”  screamed  the  old  man  again,  “Mari- 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


150 

anna  ! she  is  gone.  She  has  fled.  That  knave  Antonio 
has  stolen  her  from  me.  Away  ! after  them  ! Have 
pity  on  me,  good  people,  and  take  torches  and  help  me 
to  look  for  my  little  darling.  Oh  ! you  serpent ! ” 

And  he  tried  to  make  for  the  door.  But  the  offlcei 
held  him  fast,  saying,  “ Do  you  mean  that  pretty  young 
lady  who  sat  beside  you  ? I believe  I saw  her  slip  out 
with  a young  man — I think  Antonio  Scacciati — a long 
time  ago,  when  you  began  your  idle  quarrel  with  one  of 
the  actors  who  wore  a mask  like  your  face.  You  needn’t 
make  a trouble  of  it  ; every  inquiry  shall  at  once  be  set 
on  foot,  and  Marianna  shall  be  brought  back  to  you  as 
soon  as  she  is  found.  But  as  for  yourself,  Signor  Pas- 
quale,  your  behaviour  here  and  your  murderous  attempt 
upon  the  life  of  that  actor  compel  me  to  arrest  you." 

Signor  Pasquale,  his  face  as  pale  as  death,  incapable 
of  uttering  a single  word  or  even  a sound,  was  led  away 
by  the  very  same  gendarmes  who  were  to  have  pro- 
tected him  against  masked  devils  and  spectres.  Thus 
it  came  to  pass  that  on  the  selfsame  night  on  which 
he  had  hoped  to  celebrate  his  triumph,  he  was  plunged 
into  the  midst  of  trouble  and  of  all  the  frantic  despond- 
ency which  amorous  old  fools  feel  when  they  are  de- 
ceived. 


VI. 


Salvator  Rosa  leaves  Rome  and  goes  to  Florence.  Conclusion  of  the 
history. 

Everything  here  below  beneath  the  sun  is  subject  to 
continual  change  ; and  perhaps  there  is  nothing  which 
can  be  called  more  inconstant  than  human  opinion, 
which  turns  round  in  an  everlasting  circle  like  the 
wheel  of  fortune.  He  who  reaps  great  praise  to-day  is 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


151 

overwhelmed  with  biting  censure  to-morrow ; to-day 
we  trample  under  foot  the  man  who  to-morrow  will  be 
raised  far  above  us. 

Of  all  those  who  in  Rome  had  ridiculed  and  mocked 
at  old  Pasquale  Capuzzi,  with  his  sordid  avarice,  his 
foolish  amorousness,  his  insane  jealousy,  who  did  not 
wish  poor  tormented  Marianna  her  liberty  ? But  now 
that  Antonio  had  successfully  carried  off  his  mistress,  all 
their  ridicule  and  mockery  was  suddenly  changed  into 
pity  for  the  old  fool,  whom  they  saw  wandering  about 
the  streets  of  Rome  with  his  head  hanging  on  his 
breast,  utterly  disconsolate.  Misfortunes  seldom  come 
singly  ; and  so  it  happened  that  Signor  Pasquale,  soon 
after  Marianna  had  been  taken  from  him,  lost  his  best 
bosom-friends  also.  Little  Pitichinaccio  choked  him- 
self in  foolishly  trying  to  swallow  an  almond-kernel  in 
the  middle  of  a cadenza ; but  a sudden  stop  was  put  to 
the  life  of  the  illustrious  Pyramid  Doctor  Signor  Splen- 
diano  Accoramboni  by  a slip  of  the  pen,  for  which  he 
had  only  himself  to  blame.  Michele’s  drubbing  made 
such  work  with  him  that  he  fell  into  a fever.  He  deter- 
mined to  make  use  of  a remedy  which  he  claimed  to 
have  discovered,  so,  calling  for  pen  and  ink,  he  wrote 
down  a prescription  in  which,  by  employing  a wrong 
sign,  he  increased  the  quantity  of  a powerful  substance 
to  a dangerous  extent.  But  scarcely  had  he  swallowed 
the  medicine  than  he  sank  back  on  the  pillows  and 
died,  establishing,  however,  by  his  own  death  in  the 
most  splendid  and  satisfactory  manner  the  efficacy  of 
the  last  tincture  which  he  ever  prescribed. 

As  already  remarked,  all  those  whose  laughter  had 
been  the  loudest,  and  who  had  repeatedly  wished  An- 
tonio success  in  his  schemes,  had  now  nothing  but  pity 
for  the  old  gentleman  ; and  the  bitterest  blame  was 
heaped,  not  so  much  upon  Antonio,  as  upon  Salvator 


152 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


Rosa,  whom,  to  be  sure,  they  regarded  as  the  instigator 
of  the  whole  plan. 

Salvator’s  enemies,  of  whom  he  had  a goodly  number, 
exerted  all  their  efforts  to  fan  the  flame.  “ See  you,” 
they  said,  “he  was  one  of  Masaniello’s  doughty  par- 
tisans, and  is  ready  to  turn  his  hand  to  any  deed  of 
mischief,  to  any  disreputable  enterprise  ; we  shall  be 
the  next  to  suffer  from  his  presence  in  the  city ; he  is  a 
dangerous  man.” 

And  the  jealous  faction  who  had  leagued  together 
against  Salvator  did  actually  succeed  in  stemming  the 
tide  of  his  prosperous  career.  He  sent  forth  from  his 
studio  one  picture  after  the  other,  all  bold  in  concep- 
tion, and  splendidly  executed  ; but  the  so-called  critics 
shrugged  their  shoulders,  now  pointing  out  that  the 
hills  were  too  blue,  the  trees  too  green,  the  figures 
now  too  long,  now  too  broad,  finding  fault  everywhere 
where  there  was  no  fault  to  be  found,  and  seeking  to 
detract  from  his  hard-earned  reputation  in  all  the  ways 
they  could  think  of.  Especially  bitter  in  their  perse- 
cution of  him  were  the  Academicians  of  St.  Luke,  who 
could  not  forget  how  he  took  them  in  about  the  sur- 
geon ; they  even  went  beyond  the  limits  of  their  own 
profession,  and  decried  the  clever  stanzas  which  Salva- 
tor at  that  time  wrote,  hinting  very  plainly  that  he  did 
not  cultivate  his  fruit  on  his  own  garden  soil,  but  plun- 
dered that  of  his  neighbours.  For  these  reasons, 
therefore,  Salvator  could  not  manage  to  surround  him- 
self with  the  splendour  which  he  had  lived  amidst  for- 
merly in  Rome.  Instead  of  being  visited  by  the  most 
eminent  of  the  Romans  in  a large  studio,  he  had  to 
remain  with  Dame  Caterina  and  his  green  fig-tree  ; but 
amid  these  poor  surroundings  he  frequently  found 
both  consolation  and  tranquillity  of  mind. 

Salvator  took  the  malicious  machinations  of  his 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


153 


enemies  to  heart  more  than  he  ought  to  have  done  ; 
he  even  began  to  feel  that  an  insidious  disease,  result- 
ing from  chagrin  and  dejection,  was  gnawing  at  his 
vitals.  In  this  unhappy  frame  of  mind  he  designed 
and  executed  two  large  pictures  which  excited  quite 
an  uproar  in  Rome.  Of  these  one  represented  the 
transitoriness  of  all  earthly  things,  and  in  the  principal 
figure,  that  of  a wanton  female  bearing  all  the  indica- 
tions of  her  degrading  calling  about  her,  was  recognised 
the  mistress  of  one  of  the  cardinals  ; the  other  por- 
trayed the  Goddess  of  Fortune  dispensing  her  rich  gifts. 
But  cardinals’  hats,  bishops’  mitres,  gold  medals,  deco- 
rations of  orders,  were  falling  upon  bleating  sheep, 
braying  asses,  and  other  such  like  contemptible  ani- 
mals, whilst  well-made  men  in  ragged  clothes  were 
vainly  straining  their  eyes  upwards  to  get  even  the 
smallest  gift.  Salvator  had  given  free  rein  to  his  em- 
bittered mood,  and  the  animals’  heads  bore  the  closest 
resemblance  to  the  features  of  various  eminent  per- 
sons. It  is  easy  to  imagine,  therefore,  how  the  tide  of 
hatred  against  him  rose,  and  that  he  was  more  bitterly 
persecuted  than  ever. 

Dame  Caterina  warned  him,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
that  as  soon  as  it  began  to  be  dark  she  had  observed 
suspicious  characters  lurking  about  the  house  and  ap- 
parently dogging  his  every  footstep.  Salvator  saw 
that  it  was  time  to  leave  Rome  ; and  Dame  Caterina 
and  her  beloved  daughters  were  the  only  people  whom 
it  caused  him  pain  to  part  from.  In  response  to  the  re- 
peated invitations  of  the  Duke  of  Tuscany,1  he  went  to 
Florence  ; and  here  at  length  he  was  richly  indemnified 
for  all  the  mortification  and  worry  which  he  had  had 

1 This  was  Ferdinand  II.,  a member  of  the  illustrious  Florentine 
family  of  the  Medici.  He  upheld  the  family  tradition  by  his  liberal 
patronage  of  science  and  letters. 


154 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


to  struggle  against  in  Rome,  and  here  all  the  honour 
and  all  the  fame  which  he  so  truly  deserved  were  freely 
conferred  upon  him.  The  Duke’s  presents  and  the 
high  prices  which  he  received  for  his  pictures  soon 
enabled  him  to  remove  into  a large  house  and  to  fur- 
nish it  in  the  most  magnificent  style.  There  he  was 
wont  to  gather  round  him  the  most  illustrious  authors 
and  scholars  of  the  day,  amongst  whom  it  will  be  suf- 
ficient to  mention  Evangelista  Toricelli,1  Valerio 
Chimentelli,  Battista  Ricciardi,  Andrea  Cavalcanti, 
Pietro  Salvati,  Filippo  Apolloni,  Volumnio  Bandelli, 
Francesco  Rovai.  They  formed  an  association  for  the 
prosecution  of  artistic  and  scientific  pursuits,  whilst 
Salvator  was  able  to  contribute  an  element  of  whim- 
sicality to  the  meetings,  which  had  a singular  effect  in 
animating  and  enlivening  the  mind.  The  banqueting- 
hall  was  like  a beautiful  grove  with  fragrant  bushes 
and  flowers  and  splashing  fountains ; and  the  dishes 
even,  which  were  served  up  by  pages  in  eccentric  cos- 
tumes, were  very  wonderful  to  look  at,  as  if  they  came 
from  some  distant  land  of  magic.  These  meetings  of 
writers  and  savans  in  Salvator  Rosa’s  house  were  called 
at  that  time  the  Accademia  de’  Percossi. 

Though  Salvator’s  mind  was  in  this  way  devoted  to 
science  and  art,  yet  his  real  true  nature  came  to  life 
again  when  he  was  with  his  friend  Antonio  Scacciati, 
who,  along  with  his  lovely  Marianna,  led  the  pleasant 
sans  souci  life  of  an  artist.  They  often  recalled  poor 


1 Evangelista  Torricelli,  the  successor  of  the  great  Galileo  in  the 
chair  of  philosophy  and  mathematics  at  Florence,  is  inseparably  asso- 
ciated with  the  discovery  that  water  in  a suction-pump  will  only  rise 
to  the  height  of  about  thirty-two  feet.  This  paved  the  way  to  his 
invention  of  the  barometer  in  1643. 

Other  members  of  the  Accademia  de’  Percossi  were  Dati,  Lippi, 
Viviani,  Bandinelli,  &c. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


155 


old  Signor  Pasquale  whom  they  had  deceived,  and  all 
that  had  taken  place  in  Nicolo  Musso’s  theatre.  An- 
tonio asked  Salvator  how  he  had  contrived  to  enlist  in 
his  cause  the  active  interest  not  only  of  Musso  but  of 
the  excellent  Formica,  and  of  Agli  too.  Salvator  re- 
plied that  it  had  been  very  easy,  for  Formica  was  his 
most  intimate  friend  in  Rome,  so  that  it  had  been  a 
work  of  both  pleasure  and  love  to  him  to  arrange 
everything  on  the  stage  in  accordance  with  the  in- 
structions Salvator  gave  him.  Antonio  protested  that, 
though  still  he  could  not  help  laughing  over  the  scene 
which  had  paved  the  way  to  his  happiness,  he  yet 
wished  with  all  his  heart  to  be  reconciled  to  the  old 
gentleman,  even  if  he  should  never  touch  a penny 
of  Marianna’s  fortune,  which  the  old  gentleman  had 
confiscated  ; the  practice  of  his  art  brought  him  in  a 
sufficient  income.  Marianna  too  was  often  unable  to 
restrain  her  tears  when  she  thought  that  her  father’s 
brother  might  go  down  to  his  grave  without  having 
forgiven  her  the  trick  which  she  had  played  upon 
him  ; and  so  Pasquale’s  hatred  overshadowed  like  a 
dark  cloud  the  brightness  of  their  happiness.  Salvator 
comforted  them  both — Antonio  and  Marianna — by  say- 
ing that  time  had  adjusted  still  worse  difficulties,  and 
that  chance  would  perhaps  bring  the  old  gentleman 
near  them  in  some  less  dangerous  way  than  if  they  had 
remained  in  Rome,  or  were  to  return  there  now. 

We  shall  see  that  a prophetic  spirit  spoke  in  Sal- 
vator. 

A considerable  time  elapsed,  when  one  day  Antonio 
burst  into  Salvator’s  studio  breathless  and  pale  as  death. 
“ Salvator  ! ” he  cried,  “ Salvator,  my  friend,  my  pro- 
tector ! I am  lost  if  you  do  not  help  me.  Pasquale 
Capuzzi  is  here  ; he  has  procured  a warrant  for  my  ar- 
rest for  the  seduction  of  his  niece.” 


i56 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


“ But  what  can  Signor  Pasquale  do  against  you  now  ?” 
asked  Salvator.  “ Have  you  not  been  united  to  Mari- 
anna by  the  Church  ?” 

“ Oh  ! ” replied  Antonio,  giving  way  completely  to 
despair,  “ the  blessing  of  the  Church  herself  cannot 
save  me  from  ruin.  Heaven  knows  by  what  means  the 
old  man  has  been  able  to  approach  the  Pope’s  nephew.1 
At  any  rate  the  Pope’s  nephew  has  taken  the  old  man 
under  his  protection,  and  has  infused  into  him  the  hope 
that  the  Holy  Father  will  declare  my  marriage  with 
Marianna  to  be  null  and  void  ; nay,  yet  further,  that 
he  will  grant  him  (the  old  man)  dispensation  to  marry 
his  niece.” 

“ Stop  ! ” cried  Salvator,  “ now  I see  it  all  ; now  I 
see  it  all.  What  threatens  to  be  your  ruin,  Antonio, 
is  this  man’s  hatred  against  me.  For  I must  tell  you 
that  this  nephew  of  the  Pope’s,  a proud,  coarse,  boorish 
clown,  was  amongst  the  animals  in  my  picture  to  whom 
the  Goddess  of  Fortune  is  dispensing  her  gifts.  That 
it  was  I who  helped  you  to  win  your  Marianna,  though 
indirectly,  is  well  known,  not  only  to  this  man,  but  to 
all  Rome, — which  is  quite  reason  enough  to  persecute 
you  since  they  cannot  do  anything  to  me.  And  so, 
Antonio,  having  brought  this  misfortune  upon  you,  I 
must  make  every  effort  to  assist  you,  and  all  the  more 
that  you  are  my  dearest  and  most  intimate  friend.  But, 
by  the  saints  ! I don’t  see  in  what  way  I can  frustrate 
your  enemies’  little  game  ” 

Therewith  Salvator,  who  had  continued  to  paint  at  a 
picture  all  the  time,  laid  aside  brush,  palette,  and  maul- 
stick, and,  rising  up  from  his  easel,  began  to  pace  the 
room  backwards  and  forwards,  his  arms  crossed  over 


1 An  allusion  to  the  well-known  nepotism  of  the  Popes.  The  man 
here  mentioned  is  one  of  the  Barberini,  nephew  of  Pope  Urban  VIIL 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


157 

his  breast,  Antonio  meanwhile  being  quite  wrapt  up  in 
his  own  thoughts,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  unchangeably 
upon  the  floor. 

At  length  Salvator  paused  before  him  and  said  with 
a smile,  “ See  here,  Antonio,  I cannot  do  anything 
myself  against  your  powerful  enemies,  but  I know  one 
who  can  help  you,  and  who  will  help  you,  and  that  is — 
Signor  Formica.” 

“Oh!”  said  Antonio,  “don’t  jest  with  an  unhappy 
man,  whom  nothing  can  save.” 

“ What  ! you  are  despairing  again  ? ” exclaimed  Sal- 
vator, who  was  now  all  at  once  in  the  merriest  humour, 
and  he  laughed  aloud.  “ I tell  you,  Antonio,  my  friend 
Formica  shall  help  you  in  Florence  as  he  helped  you 
in  Rome.  Go  away  quietly  home  and  comfort  your 
Marianna,  and  calmly  wait  and  see  how  things  will  turn 
out.  I trust  you  will  be  ready  at  the  shortest  notice 
to  do  what  Signor  Formica,  who  is  really  here  in  Flor- 
ence at  the  present  time,  shall  require  of  you.”  This 
Antonio  promised  most  faithfully,  and  hope  revived  in 
him  again,  and  confidence. 

Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi  was  not  a little  astonished 
at  receiving  a formal  invitation  from  the  Accademia 
de’  Percossi.  “Ah!”  he  exclaimed,  “Florence  is  the 
place  then  where  a man’s  merits  are  recognised,  where 
Pasquale  Capuzzi  di  Senigaglia,  a man  gifted  with  the 
most  excellent  talents,  is  known  and  valued.”  Thus 
the  thought  of  his  knowledge  and  his  art,  and  the 
honour  that  was  shown  him  on  their  account,  over- 
came the  repugnance  which  he  would  otherwise  have 
felt  against  a society  at  the  head  of  which  stood  Sal- 
vator Rosa.  His  Spanish  gala-dress  fvas  more  carefully 
brushed  than  ever  ; his  conical  hat  was  equipped  with 
a new  feather  ; his  shoes  were  provided  with  new  rib- 
bons ; and  so  Signor  Pasquale  appeared  at  Salvator’s 


i58 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


as  brilliant  as  a rose-chafer,1  and  his  face  all  sunshine. 
The  magnificence  which  he  saw  on  all  sides  of  him, 
even  Salvator  himself,  who  had  received  him  dressed 
in  the  richest  apparel,  inspired  him  with  deep  respect, 
and,  after  the  manner  of  little  souls,  who,  though  at 
first  proud  and  puffed  up,  at  once  grovel  in  the  dust 
whenever  they  come  into  contact  with  what  they  feel  to 
be  superior  to  themselves,  Pasquale’s  behaviour  towards 
Salvator,  whom  he  would  gladly  have  done  a mischief 
to  in  Rome,  was  nothing  but  humility  and  submissive 
deference. 

So  much  attention  was  paid  to  Signor  Pasquale  from 
all  sides,  his  judgment  was  appealed  to  so  uncondition- 
ally, and  so  much  was  said  about  his  services  to  art, 
that  he  felt  new  life  infused  into  his  veins  ; and  an  un- 
usual spirit  was  awakened  within  him,  so  that  his  utter- 
ances on  many  points  were  more  sensible  than  might 
have  been  expected.  If  it  be  added  that  never  in  his 
life  before  had  he  been  so  splendidly  entertained,  and 
never  had  he  drunk  such  inspiriting  wine,  it  will  readily 
be  conceived  that  his  pleasure  was  intensified  from 
moment  to  moment,  and  that  he  forgot  all  the  wrong 
which  had  been  done  him  at  Rome  as  well  as  the  un- 
pleasant business  which  had  brought  him  to  Florence. 
Often  after  their  banquets  the  Academicians  were  wont 
to  amuse  themselves  with  short  impromptu  dramatic 
representations,  and  so  this  evening  the  distinguished 
playwright  and  poet  Filippo  Apolloni  called  upon  those 
who  generally  took  part  in  them  to  bring  the  festivities 
to  a fitting  conclusion  with  one  of  their  usual  perform- 
ances. Salvator  at  once  withdrew  to  make  all  the  nec- 
essary preparations. 


1 Cetonia  aurata,  L.,  called  also  the  gold-chafer;  it  is  coloured 
green  and  gold. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


159 


Not  long  afterwards  the  bushes  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  banqueting-hall  began  to  move,  the  branches  with 
their  foliage  were  parted,  and  a little  theatre  provided 
with  seats  for  the  spectators  became  visible. 

“ By  the  saints  ! ” exclaimed  Pasquale  Capuzzi,  ter- 
rified, “where  ami?  Surely  that’s  Nicolo  Musso’s 
theatre.” 

Without  heeding  his  exclamation,  Evangelista  Tori- 
celli  and  Andrea  Cavalcanti — both  of  them  grave, 
respectable,  venerable  men — took  him  by  the  arm  and 
led  him  to  a seat  immediately  in  front  of  the  stage, 
taking  their  places  on  each  side  of  him. 

This  was  no  sooner  done  than  there  appeared  on  the 
boards — Formica  in  the  character  of  Pasquarello. 

“You  reprobate,  Formica!”  shouted  Pasquale,  leap- 
ing to  his  feet  and  shaking  his  doubled  fist  at  the  stage. 
Toricelli  and  Cavalcanti’s  stern,  reproving  glances  bade 
him  sit  still  and  keep  quiet. 

Pasquarello  wept  and  sobbed,  and  cursed  his  destiny, 
which  brought  him  nothing  but  grief  and  heart-break- 
ing, declared  he  didn’t  know  how  he  should  ever  set 
about  it  if  he  wanted  to  laugh  again,  and  concluded  by 
saying  that  if  he  could  look  upon  blood  without  faint- 
ing, he  should  certainly  cut  his  throat,  or  should  throw 
himself  in  the  Tiber  if  he  could  only  let  that  cursed 
swimming  alone  when  he  got  into  the  water. 

Doctor  Gratiano  now  joined  him,  and  inquired  what 
was  the  cause  of  his  trouble. 

Whereupon  Pasquarello  asked  him  whether  he  did 
not  know  anything  about  what  had  taken  place  in  the 
house  of  his  master,  Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi  di  Seni- 
gaglia,  whether  he  did  not  know  that  an  infamous 
scoundrel  had  carried  off  pretty  Marianna,  his  master’s 
niece  ? 

“ Ah  ! ” murmured  Capuzzi,  “ I see  you  want  to  make 


x 6o 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


your  excuses  to  me,  Formica ; you  wish  for  my  pardon 
— well,  we  shall  see.” 

Doctor  Gratiano  expressed  his  sympathy,  and  ob- 
served that  the  scoundrel  must  have  gone  to  work  very 
cunningly  to  have  eluded  all  the  inquiries  which  had 
been  instituted  by  Capuzzi. 

“Ho!  ho  !”  rejoined  Pasquarello.  “ The  Doctor  need 
not  imagine  that  the  scoundrel,  Antonio  Scacciati,  had 
succeeded  in  escaping  the  sharpness  of  Signor  Pasquale 
Capuzzi,  supported  as  he  was,  moreover,  by  powerful 
friends.  Antonio  had  been  arrested,  his  marriage  with 
Marianna  annulled,  and  Marianna  herself  had  again 
come  into  Capuzzi’s  power. 

“ Has  he  got  her  again  ? ” shouted  Capuzzi,  beside 
himself  ; “ has  he  got  her  again,  good  Pasquale  ? Has 
he  got  his  little  darling,  his  Marianna  ? Is  the  knave 
Antonio  arrested  ? Heaven  bless  you,  Formica  ! ” 

“ You  take  a too  keen  interest  in  the  play,  Signor 
Pasquale,”  said  Cavalcanti,  quite  seriously.  “ Pray 
permit  the  actors  to  proceed  with  their  parts  without 
interrupting  them  in  this  disturbing  fashion.” 

Ashamed  of  himself,  Signor  Pasquale  resumed  his 
seat,  for  he  had  again  risen  to  his  feet. 

Doctor  Gratiano  asked  what  had  taken  place  then. 

A wedding,  continued  Pasquarello,  a wedding  had 
taken  place.  Marianna  had  repented  of  what  she  had 
done  ; Signor  Pasquale  had  obtained  the  desired  dis- 
pensation from  the  Holy  Father,  and  had  married  his 
niece. 

“Yes,  yes,”  murmured  Pasquale  Capuzzi  to  himself, 
whilst  his  eyes  sparkled  with  delight,  “ yes,  yes,  my 
dear,  good  Formica  ; he  will  marry  his  sweet  Marianna, 
the  happy  Pasquale.  He  knew  that  the  dear  little 
darling  had  always  loved  him,  and  that  it  was  only 
Satan  who  had  led  her  astray.” 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


161 


“Why  then,  everything  is  all  right,”  said  Doctor 
Gratiano,  “and  there’s  no  cause  for  lamentation.” 

Pasquarello  began,  however,  to  weep  and  sob  more 
violently  than  before,  till  at  length,  as  if  overcome  by 
the  terrible  nature  of  his  pain,  he  fainted  away.  Doc- 
tor Gratiano  ran  backwards  and  forwards  in  great  dis- 
tress, was  so  sorry  he  had  no  smelling-bottle  with  him, 
felt  in  all  his  pockets,  and  at  last  produced  a roasted 
chestnut,  and  put  it  under  the  insensible  Pasquarello’s 
nose.  He  at  once  recovered,  sneezing  violently,  and 
begging  him  to  attribute  his  faintness  to  his  weak 
nerves,  he  related  how  that,  immediately  after  the  mar- 
riage, Marianna  had  been  afflicted  with  the  saddest  mel- 
ancholy, continually  calling  upon  Antonio,  and  treating 
the  old  gentleman  with  contempt  and  aversion.  But 
the  old  fellow,  quite  infatuated  by  his  passion  and 
jealousy,  had  not  ceased  to  torment  the  poor  girl  with 
his  folly  in  the  most  abominable  way.  And  here 
Pasquarello  mentioned  a host  of  mad  tricks  which 
Pasquale  had  done,  and  which  were  really  current  in 
Rome  about  him.  Signor  Capuzzi  sat  on  thorns  ; he 
murmured  at  intervals,  “ Curse  you,  Formica  ! You 
are  lying  ! What  evil  spirit  is  in  you  ? ” He  was  only 
.prevented  from  bursting  out  into  a violent  passion  by 
Toricelli  and  Cavalcanti,  who  sat  watching  him  with 
an  earnest  gaze. 

Pasquarello  concluded  his  narration  by  telling  that 
Marianna  had  at  length  succumbed  to  her  unsatisfied 
longing  for  her  lover,  her  great  distress  of  mind,  and 
the  innumerable  tortures  which  were  inflicted  upon  her 
by  the  execrable  old  fellow,  and  had  died  in  the  flower 
of  her  youth. 

At  this  moment  was  heard  a mournful  De  profundis 
sung  by  hollow,  husky  voices,  and  men  clad  in  long 
black  robes  appeared  on  the  stage,  bearing  an  open 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


162 

coffin,  within  which  was  seen  the  corpse  of  lovely 
Marianna  wrapped  in  white  shrouds.  Behind  it  came 
Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi  in  the  deepest  mourning, 
feebly  staggering  along  and  wailing  aloud,  beating  his 
breast,  and  crying  in  a voice  of  despair,  “ 0 Marianna! 
Marianna  ! ” 

So  soon  as  the  real  Capuzzi  caught  sight  of  his 
niece’s  corpse  he  broke  out  into  loud  lamentations,  and 
both  Capuzzis,  the  one  on  the  stage  and  the  one  off, 
gave  vent  to  their  grief  in  the  most  heartrending  wails 
and  groans,  “O  Marianna!  O Marianna!  O unhappy 
me  ! Alas  ! Alas  for  me  ! ” 

Let  the  reader  picture  to  himself  the  open  coffin 
with  the  corpse  of  the  lovely  child,  surrounded  by  the 
hired  mourners  singing  their  dismal  De  profundis  in 
hoarse  voices,  and  then  the  comical  masks  of  Pasqua- 
rello  and  Dr.  Gratiano,  who  were  expressing  their  grief 
in  the  most  ridiculous  gestures,  and  lastly  the  two 
Capuzzis,  wailing  and  screeching  in  despair.  Indeed, 
all  who  were  witnesses  of  the  extraordinary  spectacle 
could  not  help  feeling,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  unre- 
strained laughter  they  had  burst  out  into  at  sight  of 
the  wonderful  old  gentleman,  that  their  hearts  were 
chilled  by  a most  uncomfortable  feeling  of  awe. 

Now  the  stage  grew  dark,  and  it  thundered  and 
lightened,  and  there  rose  up  from  below  a pale  ghostly 
figure,  which  bore  most  unmistakably  the  features  of 
Capuzzi’s  dead  brother,  Pietro  of  Senigaglia,  Marianna’s 
father. 

“ O you  infamous  brother,  Pasquale  ! what  have  you 
done  with  my  daughter  ? what  have  you  done  with  my 
daughter?”  wailed  the  figure,  in  a dreadful  and  hollow 
voice.  “ Despair,  you  atrocious  murderer  of  my  child. 
You  shall  find  your  reward  in  hell.” 

Capuzzi  on  the  stage  dropped  on  the  floor  as  if 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


163 

struck  by  lightning,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  real 
Capuzzi  reeled  from  his  seat  unconscious.  The  bushes 
rustled  together  again,  and  the  stage  was  gone,  and 
also  Marianna  and  Capuzzi  and  the  ghastly  spectre 
Pietro.  Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi  lay  in  such  a dead 
faint  that  it  cost  a good  deal  of  trouble  to  revive  him. 

At  length  he  came  to  himself  with  a deep  sigh,  and, 
stretching  out  both  hands  before  him  as  if  to  ward  off 
the  horror  that  had  seized  him,  he  cried  in  a husky 
voice,  “Leave  me  alone,  Pietro.”  Then  a torrent  of 
tears  ran  down  his  cheeks,  and  he  sobbed  and  cried, 
“Oh!  Marianna,  my  darling  child — my — my  Marianna.” 
“ But  recollect  yourself,”  said  now  Cavalcanti,  “ recol- 
lect yourself,  Signor  Pasquale,  it  was  only  on  the  stage 
that  you  saw  your  niece  dead.  She  is  alive  ; she  is 
here  to  crave  pardon  for  the  thoughtless  step  which 
love  and  also  your  own  inconsiderate  conduct  drove 
her  to  take.” 

And  Marianna,  and  behind  her  Antonio  Scacciati, 
now  ran  forward  from  the  back  part  of  the  hall  and 
threw  themselves  at  the  old  gentleman’s  feet, — for  he 
had  meanwhile  been  placed  in  an  easy  chair.  Mari- 
anna, looking  most  charming  and  beautiful,  kissed  his 
hands  and  bathed  them  with  scalding  tears,  beseeching 
him  to  pardon  both  her  and  Antonio,  to  whom  she  had 
been  united  by  the  blessing  of  the  Church. 

Suddenly  the  hot  blood  surged  into  the  old  man’s 
pallid  face,  fury  flashed  from  his  eyes,  and  he  cried  in  a 
half-choked  voice,  “ Oh  ! you  abominable  scoundrel '. 
You  poisonous  serpent  whom  I nourished  in  my 
bosom  !”  Then  old  Toricelli,  with  grave  and  thoughtful 
dignity,  put  himself  in  front  of  Capuzzi,  and  told  him 
that  he  (Capuzzi)  had  seen  a representation  of  the  fate 
that  would  inevitably  and  irremediably  overtake  him  if 
he  had  the  hardihood  to  carry  out  his  wicked  purpose 


1 64 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


against  Antonio  and  Marianna’s  peace  and  happiness. 
He  depicted  in  startling  colours  the  folly  and  madness 
of  amorous  old  men,  who  call  down  upon  their  own 
heads  the  most  ruinous  mischief  which  Heaven  can 
inflict  upon  a man,  since  all  the  love  which  might 
have  fallen  to  their  share  is  lost,  and  instead  hatred 
and  contempt  shoot  their  fatal  darts  at  them  from 
every  side. 

At  intervals  lovely  Marianna  cried  in  a tone  that 
went  to  everybody’s  heart,  “ O my  uncle,  I will  love  and 
honour  you  as  my  own  father  ; you  will  kill  me  by  a 
cruel  death  if  you  rob  me  of  my  Antonio.”  And  all  the 
eminent  men  by  whom  the  old  gentleman  was  surround- 
ed cried  with  one  accord  that  it  would  not  be  possible 
for  a man  like  Signor  Pasquale  Capuzzi  di  Senigaglia, 
a patron  of  art  and  himself  an  artist,  not  to  forgive  the 
young  people,  and  assume  the  part  of  father  to  the 
most  lovely  of  ladies,  not  possible  that  he  could  refuse 
to  accept  with  joy  as  his  son-in-law  such  an  artist  as 
Antonio  Scacciati,  who  was  highly  esteemed  through- 
out all  Italy  and  richly  crowned  with  fame  and  honour. 

Then  it  was  patent  to  see  that  a violent  struggle  went 
on  within  the  old  gentleman.  He  sighed,  moaned, 
clasped  his  hands  before  his  face,  and,  whilst  Toricelli 
was  continuing  to  speak  in  a most  impressive  manner, 
and  Marianna  was  appealing  to  him  in  the  most  touch- 
ing accents,  and  the  rest  were  extolling  Antonio  all 
they  knew  how,  he  kept  looking  down — now  upon  his 
niece,  now  upon  Antonio,  whose  splendid  clothes  and 
rich  chains  of  honour  bore  testimony  to  the  truth  of 
what  was  said  about  the  artistic  fame  he  had  earned. 

Gone  was  all  rage  out  of  Capuzzi’s  countenance  ; he 
sprang  up  with  radiant  eyes,  and  pressed  Marianna  to 
his  heart,  saying,  “Yes,  I forgive  you,  my  dear  child  ; 
I forgive  you,  Antonio.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  disturb 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


165 

your  happiness.  You  are  right,  my  worthy  Signor  Tori- 
celli  ; Formica  has  shown  me  in  the  tableau  on  the 
stage  all  the  mischief  and  ruin  that  would  have  befallen 
me  had  I carried  out  my  insane  design.  I am  cured, 
quite  cured  of  my  folly.  But  where  is  Signor  Formica, 
where  is  my  good  physician  ? let  me  thank  him  a thou- 
sand times  for  my  cure  ; it  is  he  alone  who  has  accom- 
plished it.  The  terror  that  he  has  caused  me  to  feel 
has  brought  about  a complete  revolution  within  me.” 
Pasquarello  stepped  forward.  Antonio  threw  himself 
upon  his  neck,  crying,  “O  Signor  Formica,  you  to 
whom  I owe  my  life,  my  all — oh  ! take  off  this  disfigur- 
ing mask,  that  I may  see  your  face,  that  Formica  may 
not  be  any  longer  a mystery  to  me.” 

Pasquarello  took  off  his  cap  and  his  artificial  mask, 
which  looked  like  a natural  face,  since  it  offered  not  the 
slightest  hindrance  to  the  play  of  countenance,  and  this 
Formica,  this  Pasquarello,  was  transformed  into — Sal- 
vator Rosa.1 

“ Salvator  ! ” exclaimed  Marianna,  Antonio,  and  Cap- 
uzzi,  utterly  astounded. 

“Yes,”  said  that  wonderful  man,  “ it  is  Salvator  Rosa, 
whom  the  Romans  would  not  recognise  as  painter  and 
poet,  but  who  in  the  character  of  Formica  drew  from 
them,  without  their  being  aware  of  it,  almost  every 
evening  for  more  than  a year,  in  Nicolo  Musso’s 

1 The  painter  Salvator  Rosa  did  really  play  at  Rome  the  rdle  of  Pas- 
quarello here  attributed  to  him  ; but  it  was  on  the  occasion  of  his  second 
visit  to  the  Eternal  City  about  1639.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  after 
1647  (the  year  of  Masaniello’s  revolt  at  Naples)  that  Salvator  again 
came  to  Rome  (the  third  visit),  where  he  stayed  until  he  was  obliged 
to  flee  farther,  namely,  to  Florence,  in  consequence  of  the  two  pictures 
already  mentioned.  It  seems  evident  therefore  that  Hoffmann  has  not 
troubled  himself  about  his  dates,  or  strict  historical  fidelity,  but  seems 
rather  to  have  combined  the  incidents  of  the  painter’s  two  visits  to 
Rome — i.e.,  his  second  and  his  third  visit. 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


1 66 

wretched  little  theatre,  the  most  noisy  and  most  de- 
monstrative storms  of  applause,  from  whose  mouth 
they  willingly  took  all  the  scorn,  and  all  the  satiric 
mockery  of  what  is  bad,  which  they  would  on  no  ac- 
count listen  to  and  see  in  Salvator’s  poems  and  pictures. 
It  is  Salvator  Formica  who  has  helped  you,  dear  An- 
tonio.” 

“ Salvator,”  began  old  Capuzzi,  “ Salvator  Rosa,  al- 
beit I have  always  regarded  you  as  my  worst  enemy, 
yet  I have  always  prized  your  artistic  skill  very  highly, 
and  now  I love  you  as  the  worthiest  friend  I have,  and 
beg  you  to  accept  my  friendship  in  return.” 

“ Tell  me,”  replied  Salvator,  “ tell  me,  my  worthy 
Signor  Pasquale,  what  service  I can  render  you,  and 
accept  my  assurances  beforehand,  that  I will  leave  no 
stone  unturned  to  accomplish  whatever  you  may  ask 
of  me.” 

And  now  the  genial  smile  which  had  not  been  seen 
upon  Capuzzi’s  face  since  Marianna  had  been  carried 
off,  began  to  steal  back  again.  Taking  Salvator’s  hand 
he  lisped  in  a low  voice,  “My  dear  Signor  Salvator, 
you  possess  an  unlimited  influence  over  good  Antonio  ; 
beseech  him  in  my  name  to  permit  me  to  spend  the 
short  rest  of  my  days  with  him,  and  my  dear  daughter 
Marianna,  and  to  accept  at  my  hands  the  inheritance 
left  her  by  her  mother,  as  well  as  the  good  dowry  which 
I was  thinking  of  adding  to  it.  And  he  must  not  look 
jealous  if  I occasionally  kiss  the  dear  sweet  child’s  little 
white  hand  ; and  ask  him — every  Sunday  at  least  when 
I go  to  Mass,  to  trim  up  my  rough  moustache,  for 
there’s  nobody  in  all  the  wide  world  understands  it  so 
well  as  he  does.” 

It  cost  Salvator  an  effort  to  repress  his  laughter  at 
the  strange  old  man  ; but  before  he  could  make  any 
reply,  Antonio  and  Marianna,  embracing  the  old  gen- 


SIGNOR  FORMICA. 


167 

tleman,  assured  him  that  they  should  not  believe  he 
was  fully  reconciled  to  them,  and  should  not  be  really 
happy,  until  he  came  to  live  with  them  as  their  dear 
father,  never  to  leave  them  again.  Antonio  added  that 
not  only  on  Sunday,  but  every  other  day,  he  would  trim 
Capuzzi’s  moustache  as  elegantly  as  he  knew  how,  and 
accordingly  the  old  gentleman  was  perfectly  radiant 
with  delight.  Meanwhile  a splendid  supper  had  been 
prepared,  to  which  the  entire  company  now  turned  in 
the  best  of  spirits. 

In  taking  my  leave  of  you,  beloved  reader,  I wish 
with  all  my  heart  that,  whilst  you  have  been  reading 
the  story  of  the  wonderful  Signor  Formica,  you  have 
derived  as  much  pure  pleasure  from  it  as  Salvator  and 
all  his  friends  felt  on  sitting  down  to  their  supper. 


THE  SAND-MAN, 


NATHANAEL  TO  LOTHAIR. 

T KNOW  you  are  all  very  uneasy  because  I have  not 
written  for  such  a long,  long  time.  Mother,  to  be 
sure,  is  angry,  and  Clara,  I dare  say,  believes  I am  living 
here  in  riot  and  revelry,  and  quite  forgetting  my  sweet 
angel,  whose  image  is  so  deeply  engraved  upon  my 
heart  and  mind.  But  that  is  not  so  ; daily  and  hourly 
do  I think  of  you  all,  and  my  lovely  Clara’s  form  comes 
to  gladden  me  in  my  dreams,  and  smiles  upon  me  with 
her  bright  eyes,  as  graciously  as  she  used  to  do  in  the 
days  when  I went  in  and  out  amongst  you.  Oh ! how 
could  I write  to  you  in  the  distracted  state  of  mind  in 
which  I have  been,  and  which,  until  now,  has  quite  be- 
wildered me  ! A terrible  thing  has  happened  to  me. 
Dark  forebodings  of  some  awful  fate  threatening  me 
are  spreading  themselves  out  over  my  head  like  black 
clouds,  impenetrable  to  every  friendly  ray  of  sunlight. 
I must  now  tell  you  what  has  taken  place  ; I must,  that 
I see  well  enough,  but  only  to  think  upon  it  makes  the 
wild  laughter  burst  from  my  lips.  Oh  ! my  dear,  dear 
Lothair,  what  shall  I say  to  make  you  feel,  if  only  in 
an  inadequate  way,  that  that  which  happened  to  me  a 
few  days  ago  could  thus  really  exercise  such  a hostile 

1 “The  Sand-man”  forms  the  first  of  a series  of  tales  called  “The 
Night-pieces,”  and  was  published  in  1817. 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


169 

and  disturbing  influence  upon  my  life  ? Oh  that  you 
were  here  to  see  for  yourself  ! but  now  you  will,  I sup- 
pose, take  me  for  a superstitious  ghost-seer.  Inaword, 
the  terrible  thing  which  I have  experienced,  the  fatal 
effect  of  which  I in  vain  exert  every  effort  to  shake  off, 
is  simply  that  some  days  ago,  namely,  on  the  30th 
October,  at  twelve  o’clock  at  noon,  a dealer  in  weather- 
glasses came  into  my  room  and  wanted  to  sell  me  one 
of  his  wares.  I bought  nothing,  and  threatened  to  kick 
him  downstairs,  whereupon  he  went  away  of  his  own 
accord. 

You  will  conclude  that  it  can  only  be  very  peculiar 
relations — relations  intimately  intertwined  with  my  life 
— that  can  give  significance  to  this  event,  and  that  it 
must  be  the  person  of  this  unfortunate  hawker  which 
has  had  such  a very  inimical  effect  upon  me.  And  so 
it  really  is.  I will  summon  up  all  my  faculties  in  order 
to  narrate  to  you  calmly  and  patiently  as  much  of  the 
early  days  of  my  youth  as  will  suffice  to  put  matters 
before  you  in  such  a way  that  your  keen  sharp  intellect 
may  grasp  everything  clearly  and  distinctly,  in  bright 
and  living  pictures.  Just  as  I am  beginning,  I hear 
you  laugh  and  Clara  say,  “What’s  all  this  childish  non- 
sense about  ! ” Well,  laugh  at  me,  laugh  heartily  at 
me,  pray  do.  But,  good  God ! my  hair  is  standing  on 
end,  and  I seem  to  be  entreating  you  to  laugh  at  me  in 
the  same  sort  of  frantic  despair  in  which  Franz  Moor 
entreated  Daniel  to  laugh  him  to  scorn.1  But  to  my 
story. 

Except  at  dinner  we,  i.  e.,  I and  my  brothers  and 

1 See  Schiller’s  Räuber , Act  V.,  Scene  1.  Franz  Moor,  seeing  that 
the  failure  of  all  his  villainous  schemes  is  inevitable,  and  that  his  own 
ruin  is  close  upon  him,  is  at  length  overwhelmed  with  the  madness  of 
despair,  and  unburdens  the  terrors  of  his  conscience  to  the  old  servant 
Daniel,  bidding  him  laugh  him  to  scorn. 


170 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


sisters,  saw  but  little  of  our  father  all  day  long.  His 
business  no  doubt  took  up  most  of  his  time.  After  our 
evening  meal,  which,  in  accordance  with  an  old  custom, 
was  served  at  seven  o’clock,  we  all  went,  mother  with 
us,  into  father’s  room,  and  took  our  places  around  a 
round  table.  My  father  smoked  his  pipe,  drinking  a 
large  glass  of  beer  to  it.  Often  he  told  us  many  wonder- 
ful stories,  and  got  so  excited  over  them  that  his  pipe 
always  went  out  ; I used  then  to  light  it  for  him  with  a 
spill,  and  this  formed  my  chief  amusement.  Often,  again, 
he  would  give  us  picture-books  to  look  at,  whilst  he  sat 
silent  and  motionless  in  his  easy-chair,  puffing  out  such 
dense  clouds  of  smoke  that  we  were  all  as  it  were 
enveloped  in  mist.  On  such  evenings  mother  was  very 
sad  ; and  directly  it  struck  nine  she  said,  “ Come,  chil- 
dren ! off  to  bed  ! Come  ! The  ‘ Sand-man’  is  come  I 
see.”  And  I always  did  seem  to  hear  something  tramp- 
ling upstairs  with  slow  heavy  steps  ; that  must  be  the 
Sand-man.  Once  in  particular  I was  very  much  fright- 
ened at  this  dull  trampling  and  knocking  ; as  mother 
was  leading  us  out  of  the  room  I asked  her,  “ O mamma  ! 
but  who  is  this  nasty  Sand-man  who  always  sends  us 
away  from  papa?  What  does  he  look  like  ?”  “There 
is  no  Sand-man,  my  dear  child,”  mother  answered  ; 
“when  I say  the  Sand-man  is  come,  I only  mean  that 
you  are  sleepy  and  can’t  keep  your  eyes  open,  as  if 
somebody  had  put  sand  in  them.”  This  answer  of 
mother’s  did  not  satisfy  me  ; nay,  in  my  childish  mind 
the  thought  clearly  unfolded  itself  that  mother  denied 
there  was  a Sand-man  only  to  prevent  us  being  afraid, 
— why,  I always  heard  him  come  upstairs.  Full  of 
curiosity  to  learn  something  more  about  this  Sand-man 
and  what  he  had  to  do  with  us  children,  I at  length 
asked  the  old  woman  who  acted  as  my  youngest  sister’s 
attendant,  what  sort  of  a man  he  was — the  Sand-man  ? 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


171 

•‘‘Why,  ’thanael,  darling,  don’t  you  know  ?”  she  replied. 
“ Oh  ! he’s  a wicked  man,  who  comes  to  little  children 
when  they  won’t  go  to  bed  and  throws  handfuls  of 
sand  in  their  eyes,  so  that  they  jump  out  of  their  heads 
all  bloody  ; and  he  puts  them  into  a bag  and  takes  them 
to  the  half-moon  as  food  for  his  little  ones  ; and  they 
sit  there  in  the  nest  and  have  hooked  beaks  like  owls, 
and  they  pick  naughty  little  boys’  and  girls’  eyes  out 
with  them.”  After  this  I formed  in  my  own  mind  a 
horrible  picture  of  the  cruel  Sand-man.  When  any- 
thing came  blundering  upstairs  at  night  I trembled 
with  fear  and  dismay  ; and  all  that  my  mother  could 
get  out  of  me  were  the  stammered  words  “ The  Sand- 
man ! the  Sand-man  ! ” whilst  the  tears  coursed  down 
my  cheeks.  Then  I ran  into  my  bedroom,  and  the 
whole  night  through  tormented  myself  with  the  terrible 
apparition  of  the  Sand-man.  I was  quite  old  enough  to 
perceive  that  the  old  woman’s  tale  about  the  Sand-man 
and  his  little  ones’  nest  in  the  half-moon  couldn’t  be 
altogether  true  ; nevertheless  the  Sand-man  continued 
to  be  for  me  a fearful  incubus,  and  I was  always 
seized  with  terror — my  blood  always  ran  cold,  not  only 
when  I heard  anybody  come  up  the  stairs,  but  when 
I heard  anybody  noisily  open  my  father’s  room  door 
and  go  in.  Often  he  stayed  away  for  a long  season 
altogether  ; then  he  would  come  several  times  in  close 
succession. 

This  went  on  for  years,  without  my  being  able  to 
accustom  myself  to  this  fearful  apparition,  without  the 
image  of  the  horrible  Sand-man  growing  any  fainter 
in  my  imagination.  His  intercourse  with  my  father 
began  to  occupy  my  fancy  ever  more  and  more  ; I was 
restrained  from  asking  my  father  about  him  by  an 
unconquerable  shyness  ; but  as  the  years  went  on  the 
desire  waxed  stronger  and  stronger  within  me  to  fathom 


172 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


the  mystery  myself  and  to  see  the  fabulous  Sand-man. 
He  had  been  the  means  of  disclosing  to  me  the  path  of 
the  wonderful  and  the  adventurous,  which  so  easily  find 
lodgment  in  the  mind  of  the  child.  I liked  nothing 
better  than  to  hear  or  read  horrible  stories  of  goblins, 
witches,  Tom  Thumbs,  and  so  on  ; but  always  at  the 
head  of  them  all  stood  the  Sand-man,  whose  picture  I 
scribbled  in  the  most  extraordinary  and  repulsive  forms 
with  both  chalk  and  coal  everywhere,  on  the  tables,  and 
cupboard  doors,  and  walls.  When  I was  ten  years  old 
my  mother  removed  me  from  the  nursery  into  a little 
chamber  off  the  corridor  not  far  from  my  father’s  room. 
We  still  had  to  withdraw  hastily  whenever,  on  the 
stroke  of  nine,  the  mysterious  unknown  wTas  heard  in 
the  house.  As  I lay  in  my  little  chamber  I could  hear 
him  go  into  father’s  room,  and  soon  afterwards  I fan- 
cied there  was  a fine  and  peculiar  smelling  steam 
spreading  itself  through  the  house.  As  my  curiosity 
waxed  stronger,  my  resolve  to  make  somehow  or  other 
the  Sand-man’s  acquaintance  took  deeper  root.  Often 
when  my  mother  had  gone  past,  I slipped  quickly  out 
of  my  room  into  the  corridor,  but  I could  never  see 
anything,  for  always  before  I could  reach  the  place 
where  I could  get  sight  of  him,  the  Sand-man  was  well 
inside  the  door.  At  last,  unable  to  resist  the  impulse 
any  longer,  I determined  to  conceal  myself  in  father’s 
room  and  there  wait  for  the  Sand-man. 

One  evening  I perceived  from  my  father’s  silence 
and  mother’s  sadness  that  the  Sand-man  would  come  ; 
accordingly,  pleading  that  I was  excessively  tired,  I left 
the  room  before  nine  o’clock  and  concealed  myself  in  a 
hiding-place  close  beside  the  door.  The  street  door 
creaked,  and  slow,  heavy,  echoing  steps  crossed  the 
passage  towards  the  stairs.  Mother  hurried  past  me 
with  my  brothers  and  sisters.  Softly — softly — I opened 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


173 


father’s  room  door.  He  sat  as  usual,  silent  and  motion- 
less, with  his  back  towards  it  ; he  did  not  hear  me  ; 
and  in  a moment  I was  in  and  behind  a curtain 
drawn  before  my  father’s  open  wardrobe,  which  stood 
just  inside  the  room.  Nearer  and  nearer  and  nearer 
came  the  echoing  footsteps.  There  was  a strange 
coughing  and  shuffling  and  mumbling  outside.  My 
heart  beat  with  expectation  and  fear.  A quick  step 
now  close,  close  beside  the  door,  a noisy  rattle  of  the 
handle,  and  the  door  flies  open  with  a bang.  Recover- 
ing my  courage  with  an  effort,  I take  a cautious  peep 
out.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  in  front  of  my  father 
stands  the  Sand-man,  the  bright  light  of  the  lamp  fall- 
ing full  upon  his  face.  The  Sand-man,  the  terrible 
Sand-man,  is  the  old  advocate  Coppelius  who  often 
comes  to  dine  with  us. 

But  the  most  hideous  figure  could  not  have  awakened 
greater  trepidation  in  my  heart  than  this  Coppelius 
did.  Picture  to  yourself  a large  broad-shouldered  man, 
with  an  immensely  big  head,  a face  the  colour  of  yellow- 
ochre,  grey  bushy  eyebrows,  from  beneath  which  two 
piercing,  greenish,  cat-like  eyes  glittered,  and  a promi- 
nent Roman  nose  hanging  over  his  upper  lip.  His 
distorted  mouth  was  often  screwed  up  into  a malicious 
smile  ; then  two  dark-red  spots  appeared  on  his  cheeks, 
and  a strange  hissing  noise  proceeded  from  between  his 
tightly  clenched  teeth.  He  always  wore  an  ash-grey 
coat  of  an  old-fashioned  cut,  a waistcoat  of  the  same, 
and  nether  extremeties  to  match,  but  black  stockings 
and  buckles  set  with  stones  on  his  shoes.  His  little 
wig  scarcely  extended  beyond  the  crown  of  his  head, 
his  hair  was  curled  round  high  up  above  his  big  red 
ears,  and  plastered  to  his  temples  with  cosmetic,  and  a 
broad  closed  hair-bag  stood  out  prominently  from  his 
neck,  so  that  you  could  see  the  silver  buckle  that 


174 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


fastened  his  folded  neck-cloth.  Altogether  he  was  a 
most  disagreeable  and  horribly  ugly  figure  ; but  what 
we  children  detested  most  of  all  was  his  big  coarse 
hairy  hands  ; we  could  never  fancy  anything  that  he 
had  once  touched.  This  he  had  noticed  ; and  so,  when- 
ever our  good  mother  quietly  placed  a piece  of  cake 
or  sweet  fruit  on  our  plates,  he  delighted  to  touch  it 
under  some  pretext  or  other,  until  the  bright  tears  stood 
in  our  eyes,  and  from  disgust  and  loathing  we  lost  the 
enjoyment  of  the  tit-bit  that  was  intended  to  please 
us.  And  he  did  just  the  same  thing  when  father  gave 
us  a glass  of  sweet  wine  on  holidays.  Then  he  would 
quickly  pass  his  hand  over  it,  or  even  sometimes  raise 
the  glass  to  his  blue  lips,  and  he  laughed  quite  sardoni- 
cally when  all  we  dared  do  was  to  express  our  vexation 
in  stifled  sobs.  He  habitually  called  us  the  “little 
brutes  and  when  he  was  present  we  might  not  utter 
a sound  ; and  we  cursed  the  ugly  spiteful  man  who 
deliberately  and  intentionally  spoilt  all  our  little  pleas- 
ures. Mother  seemed  to  dislike  this  hateful  Coppelius 
as  much  as  we  did ; for  as  soon  as  he  appeared  her 
cheerfulness  and  bright  and  natural  manner  were  trans- 
formed into  sad,  gloomy  seriousness.  Father  treated 
him  as  if  he  were  a being  of  some  higher  race,  whose 
ill-manners  were  to  be  tolerated,  whilst  no  efforts  ought 
to  be  spared  to  keep  him  in  good-humour.  He  had 
only  to  give  a slight  hint,  and  his  favourite  dishes  were 
cooked  for  him  and  rare  wine  uncorked. 

As  soon  as  I saw  this  Coppelius,  therefore,  the  fear- 
ful and  hideous  thought  arose  in  my  mind  that  he, 
and  he  alone,  must  be  the  Sand-man  ; but  I no  longer 
conceived  of  the  Sand-man  as  the  bugbear  in  the  old 
nurse’s  fable,  who  fetched  children’s  eyes  and  took  them 
to  the  half-moon  as  food  for  his  little  ones — no  ! but  as 
an  ugly  spectre-like  fiend  bringing  trouble  and  misery 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


175 


and  ruin,  both  temporal  and  everlasting,  everywhere 
wherever  he  appeared. 

I was  spell-bound  on  the  spot.  At  the  risk  of  being 
discovered,  and,  as  I well  enough  knew,  of  being  se- 
verely punished,  I remained  as  I was,  with  my  head 
thrust  through  the  curtains  listening.  My  father  re- 
ceived Coppelius  in  a ceremonious  manner.  “ Come, 
to  work  ! ” cried  the  latter,  in  a hoarse  snarling  voice, 
throwing  off  his  coat.  Gloomily  and  silently  my  father 
took  off  his  dressing-gown,  and  both  put  on  long  black 
smock-frocks.  Where  they  took  them  from  I forgot  to 
notice.  Father  opened  the  folding-doors  of  a cupboard 
in  the  wall  ; but  I saw  that  what  I had  so  long  taken 
to  be  a cupboard  was  really  a dark  recess,  in  which 
was  a little  hearth.  Coppelius  approached  it,  and  a 
blue  flame  crackled  upwards  from  it.  Round  about 
were  all  kinds  of  strange  utensils.  Good  God  ! as  my 
old  father  bent  down  over  the  fire  how  different  he 
looked ! His  gentle  and  venerable  features  seemed  to 
be  drawn  up  by  some  dreadful  convulsive  pain  into 
an  ugly,  repulsive  Satanic  mask.  He  looked  like  Cop- 
pelius. Coppelius  plied  the  red-hot  tongs  and  drew 
bright  glowing  masses  out  of  the  thick  smoke  and 
began  assiduously  to  hammer  them.  I fancied  that 
there  were  men’s  faces  visible  round  about,  but  with- 
out eyes,  having  ghastly  deep  black  holes  where  the 
eyes  should  have  been.  “Eyes  here!  Eyes  here!” 
cried  Coppelius,  in  a hollow  sepulchral  voice.  My 
blood  ran  cold  with  horror ; I screamed  and  tumbled 
out  of  my  hiding-place  into  the  floor.  Coppelius  im- 
mediately seized  upon  me.  “You  little  brute!  You 
little  brute ! ” he  bleated,  grinding  his  teeth.  Then, 
snatching  me  up,  he  threw  me  on  the  hearth,  so  that 
the  flames  began  to  singe  my  hair.  “Now  we’ve  got 
eyes — eyes — a beautiful  pair  of  children’s  eyes,”  he 


176 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


whispered,  and,  thrusting  his  hands  into  the  flames  he 
took  out  some  red-hot  grains  and  was  about  to  strew 
them  into  my  eyes.  Then  my  father  clasped  his  hands 
and  entreated  him,  saying,  “ Master,  master,  let  my 
Nathanael  keep  his  eyes — oh ! do  let  him  keep  them.” 
Coppelius  laughed  shrilly  and  replied,  “Well  then,  the 
boy  may  keep  his  eyes  and  whine  and  pule  his  way 
through  the  world  ; but  we  will  now  at  any  rate  observe 
the  mechanism  of  the  hand  and  the  foot.”  And  there- 
with he  roughly  laid  hold  upon  me,  so  that  my  joints 
cracked,  and  twisted  my  hands  and  my  feet,  pulling 
them  now  this  way,  and  now  that,  “ That’s  not  quite 
right  altogether  ! It’s  better  as  it  was ! — the  old  fellow 
knew  what  he  was  about.”  Thus  lisped  and  hissed 
Coppelius  ; but  all  around  me  grew  black  and  dark  ; a 
sudden  convulsive  pain  shot  through  all  my  nerves  and 
bones  ; I knew  nothing  more. 

I felt  a soft  warm  breath  fanning  my  cheek  ; I awak- 
ened as  if  out  of  the  sleep  of  death  ; my  mother  was 
bending  over  me.  “ Is  the  Sand-man  still  there  ? ” I 
stammered.  “No,  my  dear  child;  he’s  been  gone  a 
long,  long  time  ; he’ll  not  hurt  you.”  Thus  spoke  my 
mother,  as  she  kissed  her  recovered  darling  and  pressed 
him  to  her  heart.  But  why  should  I tire  you,  my  dear 
Lothair  ? why  do  I dwell  at  such  length  on  these  de- 
tails, when  there’s  so  much  remains  to  be  said  ? 
Enough — I was  detected  in  my  eavesdropping,  and 
roughly  handled  by  Coppelius.  Fear  and  terror  had 
brought  on  a violent  fever,  of  which  I lay  ill  several 
weeks.  “ Is  the  Sand-man  still  there  ? ” these  were  the 
first  words  I uttered  on  coming  to  myself  again,  the 
first  sign  of  my  recovery,  of  my  safety.  Thus,  }'Ou  see, 
I have  only  to  relate  to  you  the  most  terrible  moment 
of  my  youth  for  you  to  thoroughly  understand  that 
it  must  not  be  ascribed  to  the  weakness  of  my  eyesight 


/ 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


177 


if  all  that  I see  is  colourless,  but  to  the  fact  that  a mys- 
terious destiny  has  hung  a dark  veil  of  clouds  about  my 
life,  which  I shall  perhaps  only  break  through  when  I 
die. 

Coppelius  did  not  show  himself  again  ; it  was  reported 
he  had  left  the  town. 

It  was  about  a year  later  when,  in  pursuance  of  the 
old  unchanged  custom,  we  sat  around  the  round  table 
in  the  evening.  Father  was  in  very  good  spirits,  and 
was  telling  us  amusing  tales  about  his  youthful  travels. 
As  it  was  striking  nine  we  all  at  once  heard  the  street 
door  creak  on  its  hinges,  and  slow  ponderous  steps 
echoed  across  the  passage  and  up  the  stairs.  “ That  is 
Coppelius,”  said  my  mother,  turning  pale.  “Yes,  it  is 
Coppelius,”  replied  my  father  in  a faint  broken  voice. 
The  tears  started  from  my  mother’s  eyes.  “ But,  father, 
father,”  she  cried,  “ must  it  be  so  ? ” “ This  is  the  last 

time,”  he  replied  ; “this  is  the  last  time  he  will  come 
to  me,  I promise  you.  Go  now,  go  and  take  the  chil- 
dren. Go,  go  to  bed — good-night.” 

As  for  me,  I felt  as  if  I were  converted  into  cold, 
heavy  stone  ; I could  not  get  my  breath.  As  I stood 
there  immovable  my  mother  seized  me  by  the  arm. 
“Come,  Nathanael!  do  come  along!”  I suffered  my- 
self to  be  led  away  ; I went  into  my  room.  “Be  a 
good  boy  and  keep  quiet,”  mother  called  after  me  ; 
“get  into  bed  and  go  to  sleep.”  But,  tortured  by  inde- 
scribable fear  and  uneasiness,  I could  not  close  my  eyes. 
That  hateful,  hideous  Coppelius  stood  before  me  with 
his  glittering  eyes,  smiling  maliciously  down  upon  me  ; 
in  vain  did  I strive  to  banish  the  image.  Somewhere 
about  midnight  there  was  a terrific  crack,  as  if  a cannon 
were  being  fired  off.  The  whole  house  shook  ; some- 
thing went  rustling  and  clattering  past  my  door  ; the 
house-door  was  pulled  to  with  a bang.  “ That  is  Cop- 


178 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


pelius,”  I cried,  terror-struck,  and  leapt  out  of  bed. 
Then  I heard  a wild  heartrending  scream  ; I rushed 
into  my  father’s  room  ; the  door  stood  open,  and  clouds 
of  suffocating  smoke  came  rolling  towards  me.  The 
servant-maid  shouted,  “ Oh  ! my  master  ! my  master  1 
On  the  floor  in  front  of  the  smoking  hearth  lay  my  fa- 
ther,  dead,  his  face  burned  black  and  fearfully  distorted, 
my  sisters  weeping  and  moaning  around  him,  and  my 
mother  lying  near  them  in  a swoon.  “ Coppelius,  you 
atrocious  fiend,  you’ve  killed  my  father,”  I shouted. 
My  senses  left  me.  Two  days  later,  when  my  father 
was  placed  in  his  coffin,  his  features  were  mild  and 
gentle  again  as  they  had  been  when  he  was  alive.  I 
found  great  consolation  in  the  thought  that  his  associa- 
tion with  the  diabolical  Coppelius  could  not  have  ended 
in  his  everlasting  ruin. 

Our  neighbours  had  been  awakened  by  the  explosion  ; 
the  affair  got  talked  about,  and  came  before  the  magis- 
terial authorities,  who  wished  to  cite  Coppelius  to  clear 
himself.  But  he  had  disappeared  from  the  place, 
leaving  no  traces  behind  him. 

Now  when  I tell  you,  my  dear  friend,  that  the 
weather-glass  hawker  I spoke  of  was  the  villain  Cop- 
pelius, you  will  not  blame  me  for  seeing  impending 
mischief  in  his  inauspicious  reappearance.  He  was 
differently  dressed  ; but  Coppelius’s  figure  and  features 
are  too  deeply  impressed  upon  my  mind  for  me  to  be 
capable  of  making  a mistake  in  the  matter.  Moreover, 
he  has  not  even  changed  his  name.  He  proclaims 
himself  here,  I learn,  to  be  a Piedmontese  mechanician, 
and  styles  himself  Giuseppe  Coppola. 

I am  resolved  to  enter  the  lists  against  him  and  re- 
venge my  father’s  death,  let  the  consequences  be  what 
they  may. 

Don’t  say  a word  to  mother  about  the  reappearance 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


179 


of  this  odious  monster.  Give  my  love  to  my  darling 
Clara ; I will  write  to  her  when  I am  in  a somewhat 
calmer  frame  of  mind.  Adieu,  &c. 


Clara  to  Nathanael. 

You  are  right,  you  have  not  written  to  me  for  a very 
long  time,  but  nevertheless  I believe  that  I still  retain 
a place  in  your  mind  and  thoughts.  It  is  a proof  that 
you  were  thinking  a good  deal  about  me  when  you 
were  sending  off  your  last  letter  to  brother  Lothair, 
for  instead  of  directing  it  to  him  you  directed  it  to 
me.  With  joy  I tore  open  the  envelope,  and  did  not 
perceive  the  mistake  until  I read  the  words,  “ Oh  ! my 
dear,  dear  Lothair.”  Now  I know  I ought  not  to  have 
read  any  more  of  the  letter,  but  ought  to  have  given  it 
to  my  brother.  But  as  you  have  so  often  in  innocent 
raillery  made  it  a sort  of  reproach  against  me  that  I 
possessed  such  a calm,  and,  for  a woman,  cool-headed 
temperament  that  I should  be  like  the  woman  we  read 
of — if  the  house  was  threatening  to  tumble  down,  I 
should,  before  hastily  fleeing,  stop  to  smooth  down  a 
crumple  in  the  window-curtains — I need  hardly  tell 
you  that  the  beginning  of  your  letter  quite  upset  me. 
I could  scarcely  breathe  ; there  was  a bright  mist  before 
my  eyes.  Oh!  my  darling  Nathanael ! what  could  this 
terrible  thing  be  that  had  happened  ? Separation  from 
you — never  to  see  you  again,  the  thought  was  like  a 
sharp  knife  in  my  heart.  I read  on  and  on.  Your  de- 
scription of  that  horrid  Coppelius  made  my  flesh  creep. 
I now  learnt  for  the  first  time  what  a terrible  and  vio- 
lent death  your  good  old  father  died.  Brother  Lothair, 
to  whom  I handed  over  his  property,  sought  to  comfort 
me,  but  with  little  success.  That  horrid  weather-glass 


i8o 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


hawker  Giuseppe  Coppola  followed  me  everywhere  ; 
and  I am  almost  ashamed  to  confess  it,  but  he  was  able 
to  disturb  my  sound  and  in  general  calm  sleep  with  all 
sorts  of  wonderful  dream-shapes.  But  soon — the  next 
day — I saw  everything  in  a different  light.  Oh  ! do 
not  be  angry  with  me,  my  best-beloved,  if,  despite  your 
strange  presentiment  that  Coppelius  will  do  you  some 
mischief,  Lothair  tells  you  I am  in  quite  as  good  spirits, 
and  just  the  same  as  ever. 

I will  frankly  confess,  it  seems  to  me  that  all  that 
was  feaj  some  and  terrible  of  which  you  speak,  existed 
only  in  your  own  self,  and  that  the  real  true  outer 
world  had  but  little  to  do  with  it.  I can  quite  admit 
that  old  Coppelius  may  have  been  highly  obnoxious  to 
you  children,  but  your  real  detestation  of  him  arose 
from  the  fact  that  he  hated  children. 

Naturally  enough  the  gruesome  Sand-man  of  the  old 
nurse’s  story  was  associated  in  your  childish  mind  with 
old  Coppelius,  who,  even  though  you  had  not  believed 
in  the  Sand-man,  would  have  been  to  you  a ghostly 
bugbear,  especially  dangerous  to  children.  His  myste- 
rious labours  along  with  your  father  at  night-time 
were,  I daresay,  nothing  more  than  secret  experiments 
in  alchemy,  with  which  your  mother  could  not  be  over 
well  pleased,  owing  to  the  large  sums  of  money  that 
most  likely  were  thrown  away  upon  them  ; and  besides, 
your  father,  his  mind  full  of  the  deceptive  striving 
after  higher  knowledge,  may  probably  have  become 
rather  indifferent  to  his  family,  as  so  often  happens  in 
the  case  of  such  experimentalists.  So  also  it  is  equally 
probable  that  your  father  brought  about  his  death  by 
his  own  imprudence,  and  that  Coppelius  is  not  to  blame 
for  it.  I must  tell  you  that  yesterday  I asked  our  ex- 
perienced neighbour,  the  chemist,  whether  in  experi- 
ments of  this  kind  an  explosion  could  take  place  which 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


181 


would  have  a momentarily  fatal  effect.  He  said,  “ Oh, 
certainly  ! ” and  described  to  me  in  his  prolix  and  cir- 
cumstantial way  how  it  could  be  occasioned,  mention- 
ing at  the  same  time  so  many  strange  and  funny  words 
that  I could  not  remember  them  at  all.  Now  I know 
you  will  be  angry  at  your  Clara,  and  will  say,  “ Of  the 
Mysterious  which  often  clasps  man  in  its  invisible  arms 
there’s  not  a ray  can  find  its  way  into  this  cold  heart. 
She  sees  only  the  varied  surface  of  the  things  of  the 
world,  and,  like  the  little  child,  is  pleased  with  the 
golden  glittering  fruit,  at  the  kernel  of  which  lies  the 
fatal  poison.” 

Oh ! my  beloved  Nathanael,  do  you  believe  then 
that  the  intuitive  prescience  of  a dark  power  working 
within  us  to  our  own  ruin  cannot  exist  also  in  minds 
which  are  cheerful,  natural,  free  from  care  ? But 
please  forgive  me  that  I,  a simple  girl,  presume  in  any 
way  to  indicate  to  you  what  I really  think  of  such  an 
inward  strife.  After  all,  I should  not  find  the  proper 
words,  and  you  would  only  laugh  at  me,  not  because 
my  thoughts  were  stupid,  but  because  I was  so  foolish 
as  to  attempt  to  tell  them  to  you. 

If  there  is  a dark  and  hostile  power  which  traitor- 
ously fixes  a thread  in  our  hearts  in  order  that,  laying 
hold  of  it  and  drawing  us  by  means  of  it  along  a dan- 
gerous road  to  ruin,  which  otherwise  we  should  not 
have  trod — if,  I say,  there  is  such  a power,  it  must  as- 
sume within  us  a form  like  ourselves,  nay,  it  must  be 
ourselves  ; for  only  in  that  way  can  we  believe  in  it, 
and  only  so  understood  do  we  yield  to  it  so  far  that  it 
is  able  to  accomplish  its  secret  purpose.  So  long  as 
we  have  sufficient  firmness,  fortified  by  cheerfulness, 
to  always  acknowledge  foreign  hostile  influences  for 
what  they  really  are,  whilst  we  quietly  pursue  the  path 
pointed  out  to  us  by  both  inclination  and  calling,  then 


182 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


this  mysterious  power  perishes  in  its  futile  struggles 
to  attain  the  form  which  is  to  be  the  reflected  image 
of  ourselves.  It  is  also  certain,  Lothair  adds,  that  if  we 
have  once  voluntarily  given  ourselves  up  to  this  dark 
physical  power,  it  often  reproduces  within  us  the  strange 
forms  which  the  outer  world  throws  in  our  way,  so  that 
thus  it  is  we  ourselves  who  engender  within  ourselves 
the  spirit  which  by  some  remarkable  delusion  we  im- 
agine to  speak  in  that  outer  form.  It  is  the  phantom 
of  our  own  self  whose  intimate  relationship  with,  and 
whose  powerful  influence  upon  our  soul  either  plunges 
us  into  hell  or  elevates  us  to  heaven.  Thus  you  will 
see,  my  beloved  Nathanael,  that  I and  brother  Lothair 
have  well  talked  over  the  subject  of  dark  powers  and 
forces  ; and  now,  after  I have  with  some  difficulty 
written  down  the  principal  results  of  our  discussion, 
they  seem  to  me  to  contain  many  really  profound 
thoughts.  Lothair’s  last  words,  however,  I don’t  quite 
understand  altogether ; I only  dimly  guess  what  he 
means  ; and  yet  I cannot  help  thinking  it  is  all  very 
true.  I beg  you,  dear,  strive  to  forget  the  ugly  advo- 
cate Coppelius  as  well  as  the  weather-glass  hawker 
Giuseppe  Coppola.  Try  and  convince  yourself  that 
these  foreign  influences  can  have  no  power  over  you, 
that  it  is  only  the  belief  in  their  hostile  power  which 
can  in  reality  make  them  dangerous  to  you.  If  every 
line  of  your  letter  did  not  betray  the  violent  excitement 
of  your  mind,  and  if  I did  not  sympathise  with  your 
condition  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  I could  in 
truth  jest  about  the  advocate  Sand-man  and  weather- 
glass hawker  Coppelius.  Pluck  up  your  spirits  ! Be 
cheerful ! I have  resolved  to  appear  to  you  as  your 
guardian-angel  if  that  ugly  man  Coppola  should  dare 
take  it  into  his  head  to  bother  you  in  your  dreams,  and 
drive  him  away  with  a good  heart)*  laugh.  I’m  not 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


183 


afraid  of  him  and  his  nasty  hands,  not  the  least  little 
bit ; I won’t  let  him  either  as  advocate  spoil  any  dainty 
tit-bit  I’ve  taken,  or  as  Sand-man  rob  me  of  my  eyes. 

My  darling,  darling  Nathanael, 

Eternally  your,  &c.  &c. 


Nathanael  to  Lothair. 

I am  very  sorry  that  Clara  opened  and  read  my  last 
letter  to  you  ; of  course  the  mistake  is  to  be  attributed 
to  my  own  absence  of  mind.  She  has  written  me  a 
very  deep  philosophical  letter,  proving  conclusively 
that  Coppelius  and  Coppola  only  exist  in  my  own 
mind  and  are  phantoms  of  my  own  self,  which  will  at 
once  be  dissipated,  as  soon  as  I look  upon  them  in  that 
light.  In  very  truth  one  can  hardly  believe  that  the 
mind  which  so  often  sparkles  in  those  bright,  beauti- 
fully smiling,  childlike  eyes  of  hers  like  a sweet  lovely 
dream  could  draw  such  subtle  and  scholastic  distinc- 
tions. She  also  mentions  your  name.  You  have  been 
talking  about  me.  I suppose  you  have  been  giving  her 
lectures,  since  she  sifts  and  refines  everything  so  acutely. 
But  enough  of  this!  I must  now  tell  you  it  is  most  cer- 
tain that  the  weather-glass  hawker  Giuseppe  Coppola 
is  not  the  advocate  Coppelius.  I am  attending  the  lec- 
tures of  our  recently  appointed  Professor  of  Physics, 
who,  like  the  distinguished  naturalist,1  is  called  Spal- 
anzani,  and  is  of  Italian  origin.  He  has  known  Cop- 
pola for  many  years ; and  it  is  also  easy  to  tell  from 
his  accent  that  he  really  is  a Piedmontese.  Coppelius 


1 Lazaro  Spallanzani,  a celebrated  anatomist  and  naturalist  (1729- 
1799),  filled  for  several  years  the  chair  of  Natural  History  at  Pavia, 
and  travelled  extensively  for  scientific  purposes  in  Italy,  Turkey,  Sicily, 
Switzerland,  &c. 


184 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


was  a German,  though  no  honest  German,  I fancy. 
Nevertheless  I am  not  quite  satisfied.  You  and  Clara 
will  perhaps  take  me  for  a gloomy  dreamer,  but  nohow 
can  I get  rid  of  the  impression  which  Coppelius’s  cursed 
face  made  upon  me.  I am  glad  to  learn  from  Spalan- 
zani  that  he  has  left  the  town.  This  Professor  Spalan- 
zani  is  a very  queer  fish.  He  is  a little  fat  man,  with 
prominent  cheek-bones,  thin  nose,  projecting  lips,  and 
small  piercing  eyes.  You  cannot  get  a better  picture 
of  him  than  by  turning  over  one  of  the  Berlin  pocket- 
almanacs  1 and  looking  at  Cagliostro’s 2 portrait  en- 
graved by  Chodowiecki  ;3  Spalanzani  looks  just  like 
him. 

Once  lately,  as  I went  up  the  steps  to  his  house,  I 
perceived  that  beside  the  curtain  which  generally  cov- 
ered a glass  door  there  was  a small  chink.  What  it  was 
that  excited  my  curiosity  I cannot  explain  ; but  I looked 
through.  In  the  room  I saw  a female,  tall,  very  slen- 
der, but  of  perfect  proportions,  and  splendidly  dressed, 
sitting  at  a little  table,  on  which  she  had  placed  both 
her  arms,  her  hands  being  folded  together.  She  sat 
opposite  the  door,  so  that  I could  easily  see  her  angel- 


1 Or  Almanacs  of  the  Muses,  as  they  were  also  sometimes  called, 
were  periodical,  mostly  yearly  publications,  containing  all  kinds  of  lit- 
erary effusions  ; mostly,  however,  lyrical.  They  originated  in  the 
eighteenth  century.  Schiller,  A.  W.  and  F.  Schlegel,  Tieck,  and  Cha- 
misso,  amongst  others,  conducted  undertakings  of  this  nature. 

5 Joseph  Balsamo,  a Sicilian  by  birth,  calling  himself  Count  Cagli- 
ostro,  one  of  the  greatest  impostors  of  modern  times,  lived  during  the 
latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  century.  See  Carlyle’s  “Miscellanies” 
for  an  account  of  his  life  and  character. 

3 Daniel  Nikolas  Chodowiecki,  painter  and  engraver,  of  Polish  de- 
scent, was  born  at  Dantzic  in  1726.  For  some  years  he  was  so  popular 
an  artist  that  few  books  were  published  in  Prussia  without  plates  or 
vignettes  by  him.  The  catalogue  of  his  works  is  said  tc  include  3000 
items. 


THE  SAND-MAJV. 


185 

ically  beautiful  face.  She  did  not  appear  to  notice  me, 
and  there  was  moreover  a strangely  fixed  look  about 
her  eyes,  I might  almost  say  they  appeared  as  if  they 
had  no  power  of  vision  ; I thought  she  was  sleeping 
with  her  eyes  open.  I felt  quite  uncomfortable,  and  so 
I slipped  away  quietly  into  the  Professor’s  lecture-room, 
which  was  close  at  hand.  Afterwards  I learnt  that  the 
figure  which  I had  seen  was  Spalanzani’s  daughter, 
Olimpia,  whom  he  keeps  locked  in  a most  wicked  and 
unaccountable  way,  and  no  man  is  ever  allowed  to  come 
near  her.  Perhaps,  however,  there  is  after  all  some- 
thing peculiar  about  her  ; perhaps  she’s  an  idiot  or 
something  of  that  sort.  But  why  am  I telling  you  all 
this  ? I could  have  told  you  it  all  better  and  more  in 
detail  when  I see  you.  For  in  a fortnight  I shall  be 
amongst  you.  I must  see  my  dear  sweet  angel,  my 
Clara,  again.  Then  the  little  bit  of  ill-temper,  which,  I 
must  confess,  took  possession  of  me  after  her  fearfully 
sensible  letter,  will  be  blown  away.  And  that  is  the 
reason  why  I am  not  writing  to  her  as  well  to-day. 
With  all  best  wishes,  &c. 


Nothing  more  strange  and  extraordinary  can  be  im- 
agined, gracious  reader,  than  what  happened  to  my 
poor  friend,  the  young  student  Nathanael,  and  which  I 
have  undertaken  to  relate  to  you.  Have  you  ever  lived 
to  experience  anything  that  completely  took  possession 
of  your  heart  and  mind  and  thoughts  to  the  utter  ex- 
clusion of  everything  else  ? All  was  seething  and  boil- 
ing within  you  ; your  blood,  heated  to  fever  pitch,  leapt 
through  your  veins  and  inflamed  your  cheeks.  Your 
gaze  was  so  peculiar,  as  if  seeking  to  grasp  in  empty 
space  forms  not  seen  of  any  other  eye,  and  all  your 


THE  SAJVB-MAN. 


1 86 

words  ended  in  sighs  betokening  some  mystery.  Then 
your  friends  asked  you,  “What  is  the  matter  with  you, 
my  dear  friend  ? What  do  you  see  ? ” And,  wishing  to 
describe  the  inner  pictures  in  all  their  vivid  colours,  with 
their  lights  and  their  shades,  you  in  vain  struggled  to 
find  words  with  which  to  express  yourself.  But  you 
felt  as  if  you  must  gather  up  all  the  events  that  had 
happened,  wonderful,  splendid,  terrible,  jocose,  and 
awful,  in  the  very  first  word,  so  that  the  whole  might 
be  revealed  by  a single  electric  discharge,  so  to  speak. 
Yet  every  word  and  all  that  partook  of  the  nature  of 
communication  by  intelligible  sounds  seemed  to  be 
colourless,  cold,  and  dead.  Then  you  try  and  try  again, 
and  stutter  and  stammer,  whilst  your  friends’  prosy 
questions  strike  like  icy  winds  upon  your  heart’s  hot 
fire  until  they  extinguish  it.  But  if,  like  a bold  painter, 
you  had  first  sketched  in  a few  audacious  strokes  the 
outline  of  the  picture  you  had  in  your  soul,  you  'would 
then  easily  have  been  able  to  deepen  and  intensify  the 
colours  one  after  the  other,  until  the  varied  throng  of 
living  figures  carried  your  friends  away,  and  the)',  like 
you,  saw  themselves  in  the  midst  of  the  scene  that  had 
proceeded  out  of  your  own  soul. 

Strictly  speaking,  indulgent  reader,  I must  indeed 
confess  to  you,  nobody  has  asked  me  for  the  history  of 
young  Nathanael ; but  you  are  very  well  aware  that  I 
belong  to  that  remarkable  class  of  authors  who,  when 
they  are  bearing  anything  about  in  their  minds  in  the 
manner  I have  just  described,  feel  as  if  everybody  who 
comes  near  them,  and  also  the  whole  world  to  boot, 
were  asking,  “ Oh  ! what  is  it  ? Oh  ! do  tell  us,  my 
good  sir  ? ” Hence  I was  most  powerfully  impelled  to 
narrate  to  you  Nathanael's  ominous  life.  My  soul  was 
full  of  the  elements  of  wonder  and  extraordinary  pecu- 
liarity in  it  ; but,  for  this  very  reason,  and  because  it 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


187 


was  necessary  in  the  very  beginning  to  dispose  you,  in- 
dulgent reader,  to  bear  with  what  is  fantastic— and  that 
is  not  a little  thing — I racked  my  brain  to  find  a way  of 
commencing  the  story  in  a significant  and  original 
manner,  calculated  to  arrest  your  attention.  To  begin 
with  “ Once  upon  a time,”  the  best  beginning  for  a 
story,  seemed  to  me  too  tame  ; with  “ In  the  small  coun- 
try town  S lived,”  rather  better,  at  any  rate  allow- 

ing plenty  of  room  to  work  up  to  the  climax  ; or  to 
plunge  at  once  in  tnedias  res , “ ‘ Go  to  the  devil  ! ’ cried 
the  student  Nathanael,  his  eyes  blazing  wildly  with 
rage  and  fear,  when  the  weather-glass  hawker  Giuseppe 
Coppola  ” — well,  that  is  what  I really  had  written,  when 
I thought  I detected  something  of  the  ridiculous  in 
Nathanael’s  wild  glance  ; and  the  history'  is  anything 
but  laughable.  I could  not  find  any  words  which 
seemed  fitted  to  reflect  in  even  the  feeblest  degree  the 
brightness  of  the  colours  of  my  mental  vision.  I de- 
termined not  to  begin  at  all.  So  I pray  you,  gracious 
reader,  accept  the  three  letters  which  my  friend  Lothair 
has  been  so  kind  as  to  communicate  to  me  as  the  out- 
line of  the  picture,  into  which  I will  endeavour  to  in- 
troduce more  and  more  colour  as  I proceed  with  my 
narrative.  Perhaps,  like  a good  portrait-painter,  I may 
succeed  in  depicting  more  than  one  figure  in  such  wise 
that  you  will  recognise  it  as  a good  likeness  without 
being  acquainted  with  the  original,  and  feel  as  if  you 
had  very'  often  seen  the  original  with  your  own  bodily 
eyes.  Perhaps,  too,  you  will  then  believe  that  nothing 
is  more  wonderful,  nothing  more  fantastic  than  real  life, 
and  that  all  that  a writer  can  do  is  to  present  it  as  a 
dark  reflection  from  a dim  cut  mirror. 

In  order  to  make  the  very  commencement  more 
intelligible,  it  is  necessary  to  add  to  the  letters  that, 
soon  after  the  death  of  Nathanael’s  father,  Clara  and 


i88 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


Lothair,  the  children  of  a distant  relative,  who  had 
likewise  died,  leaving  them  orphans,  were  taken  by 
Nathanael’s  mother  into  her  own  house.  Clara  and 
Nathanael  conceived  a warm  affection  for  each  other, 
against  which  not  the  slightest  objection  in  the  world 
could  be  urged.  When  therefore  Nathanael  left  home 

to  prosecute  his  studies  in  G , they  were  betrothed. 

It  is  from  G that  his  last  letter  is  written,  where 

he  is  attending  the  lectures  of  Spalanzani,  the  distin- 
guished Professor  of  Physics. 

I might  now  proceed  comfortably  with  my  narration, 
did  not  at  this  moment  Clara’s  image  rise  up  so  vividly 
before  my  eyes  that  I. cannot  turn  them  away  from  it, 
just  as  I never  could  when  she  looked  upon  me  and 
smiled  so  sweetly.  Nowhere  would  she  have  passed  for 
beautiful  ; that  was  the  unanimous  opinion  of  all  who 
professed  to  have  any  technical  knowledge  of  beauty. 
But  whilst  architects  praised  the  pure  proportions  of 
her  figure  and  form,  painters  averred  that  her  neck, 
shoulders,  and  bosom  were  almost  too  chastely  mod- 
elled, and  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  one  and  all  were  in 
love  with  her  glorious  Magdalene  hair,  and  talked  a 
good  deal  of  nonsense  about  Battoni-like  1 colouring. 
One  of  them,  a veritable  romanticist,  strangely  enough 
likened  her  eyes  to  a lake  by  Ruisdael,2  in  which  is 
reflected  the  pure  azure  of  the  cloudless  sky,  the  beauty 
of  woods  and  flowers,  and  all  the  bright  and  varied  life 
of  a living  landscape.  Poets  and  musicians  went  still 
further  and  said,  “What's  all  this  talk  about  seas  and 


1 Pompeo  Girolamo  Batoni,  an  Italian  painter  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  whose  works  were  at  one  time  greatly  over-estimated. 

5 Jakob  Ruysdael  (r.  1625-1682),  a painter  of  Haarlem,  in  Holland. 
His  favourite  subjects  were  remote  farms,  lonely  stagnant  water,  deep- 
shaded  woods  with  marshy  paths,  the  sea-coast — subjects  of  a dark 
melancholy  kind.  His  sea-pieces  are  greatly  admired. 


THE  SAND  MAN. 


189 

reflections  ? How  can  we  look  upon  the  girl  without 
feeling  that  wonderful  heavenly  songs  and  melodies 
beam  upon  us  from  her  eyes,  penetrating  deep  down 
into  our  hearts,  till  all  becomes  awake  and  throbbing 
with  emotion  ? And  if  we  cannot  sing  anything  at  all 
passable  then,  why,  we  are  not  worth  much  ; and  this 
we  can  also  plainly  read  in  the  rare  smile  which  flits 
around  her  lips  when  we  have  the  hardihood  to  squeak 
out  something  in  her  presence  which  we  pretend  to 
call  singing,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  is  nothing  more 
than  a few  single  notes  confusedly  linked  together.” 
And  it  really  was  so.  Clara  had  the  powerful  fancy 
of  a bright,  innocent,  unaffected  child,  a woman’s  deep 
and  sympathetic  heart,  and  an  understanding  clear, 
sharp,  and  discriminating.  Dreamers  and  visionaries 
had'  but  a bad  time  of  it  with  her  ; for  without  saying 
very  much — she  was  not  by  nature  of  a talkative  dis- 
position— she  plainly  asked,  by  her  calm  steady  look, 
and  rare  ironical  smile,  “ How  can  you  imagine,  my 
dear  friends,  that  I can  take  these  fleeting  shadowy 
images  for  true  living  and  breathing  forms?”  For 
this  reason  many  found  fault  with  her  as  being  cold, 
prosaic,  and  devoid  of  feeling  ; others,  however,  who 
had  reached  a clearer  and  deeper  conception  of  life, 
were  extremely  fond  of  the  intelligent,  childlike,  large- 
hearted  girl.  But  none  had  such  an  affection  for  her 
as  Nathanael,  who  was  a zealous  and  cheerful  cultivator 
of  the  fields  of  science  and  art.  Clara  clung  to  her 
lover  with  all  her  heart ; the  first  clouds  she  encountered 
in  life  were  when  he  had  to  separate  from  her.  With 
what  delight  did  °she  fly  into  his  arms  when,  as  he  had 
promised  in  his  last  letter  to  Lothair,  he  really  came 
back  to  his  native  town  and  entered  his  mother’s  room  ! 
And  as  Nathanael  had  foreseen,  the  moment  he  saw 
Clara  again  he  no  longer  thought  about  either  the 


190 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


advocate  Coppelius  or  her  sensible  letter ; his  ill. 
humour  had  quite  disappeared. 

Nevertheless  Nathanael  was  right  when  he  told  his 
friend  Lothair  that  the  repulsive  vendor  of  weather- 
glasses, Coppola,  had  exercised  a fatal  and  disturbing 
influence  upon  his  life.  It  was  quite  patent  to  all ; for 
even  during  the  first  few  days  he  showed  that  he  was 
completely  and  entirely  changed.  He  gave  himself  up 
to  gloomy  reveries,  and  moreover  acted  so  strangely  ; 
they  had  never  observed  anything  at  all  like  it  in  him 
before.  Everything,  even  his  own  life,  was  to  him  but 
dreams  and  presentiments.  His  constant  theme  was  that 
every  man  who  delusively  imagined  himself  to  be  free 
was  merely  the  plaything  of  the  cruel  sport  of  mysteri- 
ous powers,  and  it  was  vain  for  man  to  resist  them  ; he 
must  humbly  submit  to  whatever  destiny  had  decreed 
for  him.  He  went  so  far  as  to  maintain  that  it  was 
foolish  to  believe  that  a man  could  do  anything  in  art  or 
science  of  his  own  accord  ; for  the  inspiration  in  which 
alone  any  true  artistic  work  could  be  done  did  not  pro- 
ceed from  the  spirit  within  outwards,  but  was  the  re 
suit  of  the  operation  directed  inwards  of  some  Highe 
Principle  existing  without  and  beyond  ourselves. 

This  mystic  extravagance  was  in  the  highest  degree 
repugnant  to  Clara’s  clear  intelligent  mind,  but  it 
seemed  vain  to  enter  upon  any  attempt  at  refutation. 
Yet  when  Nathanael  went  on  to  prove  that  Coppelius 
was  the  Evil  Principle  which  had  entered  into  him 
and  taken  possession  of  him  at  the  time  he  was  listen- 
ing behind  the  curtain,  and  that  this  hateful  demon 
would  in  some  terrible  way  ruin  their  happiness,  then 
Clara  grew  grave  and  said,  “ Yes,  Nathanael.  You 
are  right  ; Coppelius  is  an  Evil  Principle  ; he  can  do 
dreadful  things,  as  bad  as  could  a Satanic  power  which 
should  assume  a living  physical  form,  but  only — only 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


191 

if  you  do  not  banish  him  from  your  mind  and  thoughts. 
So  long  as  you  believe  in  him  he  exists  and  is  at  work  ; 
your  belief  in  him  is  his  only  power.”  Whereupon  Na- 
thanael, quite  angry  because  Clara  would  only  grant 
the  existence  of  the  demon  in  his  own  mind,  began  to 
dilate  at  large  upon  the  whole  mystic  doctrine  of  devils 
and  awful  powers,  but  Clara  abruptly  broke  off  the 
theme  by  making,  to  Nathanael’s  very  great  disgust, 
some  quite  commonplace  remark.  Such  deep  mys- 
teries are  sealed  books  to  cold,  unsusceptible  charac- 
ters, he  thought,  without  being  clearly  conscious  to 
himself  that  he  counted  Clara  amongst  these  inferior 
natures,  and  accordingly  he  did  not  remit  his  efforts  to 
initiate  her  into  these  mysteries.  In  the  morning,  when 
she  was  helping  to  prepare  breakfast,  he  would  take 
his  stand  beside  her,  and  read  all  sorts  of  mystic  books 
to  her,  until  she  begged  him — “ But,  my  dear  Na- 
thanael, I shall  have  to  scold  you  as  the  Evil  Principle 
which  exercises  a fatal  influence  upon  my  coffee.  For 
if  I do  as  you  wish,  and  let  things  go  their  own  way, 
and  look  into  your  eyes  whilst  you  read,  the  coffee  will 
all  boil  over  into  the  fire,  and  you  will  none  of  you  get 
any  breakfast.”  Then  Nathanael  hastily  banged  the 
book  to  and  ran  away  in  great  displeasure  to  his  own 
room. 

Formerly  he  had  possessed  a peculiar  talent  for  writ- 
ing pleasing,  sparkling  tales,  which  Clara  took  the 
greatest  delight  in  listening  to;  but  now  his  productions 
were  gloomy,  unintelligible,  and  wanting  in  form,  so 
that,  although  Clara  out  of  forbearance  towards  him  did 
not  say  so,  he  nevertheless  felt  how  very  little  interest 
she  took  in  them.  There  was  nothing  that  Clara  dis- 
liked so  much  as  what  was  tedious  ; at  such  times  her 
intellectual  sleepiness  was  not  to  be  overcome  ; it  was 
betrayed  both  in  her  glances  and  in  her  words.  Na- 


192 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


thanael’s  effusions  were,  in  truth,  exceedingly  tedious. 
His  ill-humour  at  Clara’s  cold  prosaic  temperament  con- 
tinued to  increase  ; Clara  could  not  conceal  her  distaste 
of  his  dark,  gloomy,  wearying  mysticism  ; and  thus 
both  began  to  be  more  and  more  estranged  from  each 
other  without  exactly  being  aware  of  it  themselves. 
The  image  of  the  ugly  Coppelius  had,  as  Nathanael 
was  obliged  to  confess  to  himself,  faded  considerably  in 
his  fancy,  and  it  often  cost  him  great  pains  to  present 
him  in  vivid  colours  in  his  literary  efforts,  in  which  he 
played  the  part  of  the  ghoul  of  Destiny.  At  length  it 
entered  into  his  head  to  make  his  dismal  presentiment 
that  Coppelius  would  ruin  his  happiness  the  subject  of 
a poem.  He  made  himself  and  Clara,  united  by  true 
love,  the  central  figures,  but  represented  a black  hand 
as  being  from  time  to  time  thrust  into  their  life  and 
plucking  out  a joy  that  had  blossomed  for  them.  At 
length,  as  they  were  standing  at  the  altar,  the  terrible 
Coppelius  appeared  and  touched  Clara’s  lovely  eyes, 
which  leapt  into  Nathanael’s  own  bosom,  burning  and 
hissing  like  bloody  sparks.  Then  Coppelius  laid  hold 
upon  him,  and  hurled  him  into  a blazing  circle  of  fire, 
which  spun  round  with  the  speed  of  a whirlwind,  and, 
storming  and  blustering,  dashed  away  with  him.  The 
fearful  noise  it  made  was  like  a furious  hurricane  lash- 
ing the  foaming  sea- waves  until  they  rise  up  like  black, 
white-headed  giants  in  the  midst  of  the  raging  struggle. 
But  through  the  midst  of  the  savage  fury  of  the  tem- 
pest he  heard  Clara’s  voice  calling,  “Can  you  not  see 
me,  dear  ? Coppelius  has  deceived  you  ; they  were 
not  my  eyes  which  burned  so  in  your  bosom  ; they  were 
fiery  drops  of  your  own  heart’s  blood.  Look  at  me,  I 
have  got  my  own  eyes  still.”  Nathanael  thought,  “Yes, 
that  is  Clara,  and  I am  hers  for  ever.”  Then  this 
thought  laid  a powerful  grasp  upon  the  fiery  circle  so 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


»93 


that  it  stood  still,  and  the  riotous  turmoil  died  away 
rumbling  down  a dark  abyss.  Nathanael  looked  into 
Clara’s  eyes  ; but  it  was  death  whose  gaze  rested  so 
kindly  upon  him. 

Whilst  Nathanael  was  writing  this  work  he  was  very 
quiet  and  sober-minded  ; he  filed  and  polished  every 
line,  and  as  he  had  chosen  to  submit  himself  to  the  lim- 
itations of  metre,  he  did  not  rest  until  all  was  pure  and 
musical.  When,  however,  he  had  at  length  finished  it 
and  read  it  aloud  to  himself  he  was  seized  with  horror 
and  awful  dread,  and  he  screamed,  “Whose  hideous 
voice  is  this?”  But  he  soon  came  to  see  in  it  again 
nothing  beyond  a very  successful  poem,  and  he  confi- 
dently believed  it  would  enkindle  Clara’s  cold  tempera- 
ment, though  to  what  end  she  should  be  thus  aroused 
was  not  quite  clear  to  his  own  mind,  nor  yet  what 
would  be  the  real  purpose  served  by  tormenting  her 
with  these  dreadful  pictures,  which  prophesied  a terri- 
ble and  ruinous  end  to  her  affection. 

Nathanael  and  Clara  sat  in  his  mother’s  little  garden. 
Clara  was  bright  and  cheerful,  since  for  three  entire 
days  her  lover,  who  had  been  busy  writing  his  poem, 
had  not  teased  her  with  his  dreams  or  forebodings. 
Nathanael,  too,  spoke  in  a gay  and  vivacious  way  of 
things  of  merry  import,  as  he  formerly  used  to  do,  so 
that  Clara  said,  “Ah  ! now  I have  you  again.  We  have 
driven  away  that  ugly  Coppelius,  you  see.”  Then  it 
suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  got  the  poem  in 
his  pocket  which  he  wished  to  read  to  her.  He  at 
once  took  out  the  manuscript  and  began  to  read.  Clara, 
anticipating  something  tedious  as  usual,  prepared  to 
submit  to  the  infliction,  and  calmly  resumed  her  knit- 
ting. But  as  the  sombre  clouds  rose  up  darker  and 
darker  she  let  her  knitting  fall  on  her  lap  and  sat  with 
her  eyes  fixed  in  a set  stare  upon  Nathanael’s  face. 


194 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


He  was  quite  carried  away  by  his  own  work,  the  fire 
of  enthusiasm  coloured  his  cheeks  a deep  red,  and  tears 
started  from  his  eyes.  At  length  he  concluded,  groan- 
ing and  showing  great  lassitude  ; grasping  Clara’s 
hand,  he  sighed  as  if  he  were  being  utterly  melted  in 
inconsolable  grief,  “ Oh  ! Clara  ! Clara  ! ” She  drew 
him  softly  to  her  heart  and  said  in  a low  but  very  grave 
and  impressive  tone,  “ Nathanael,  my  darling  Nathan- 
ael, throw  that  foolish,  senseless,  stupid  thing  into  the 
fire.”  Then  Nathanael  leapt  indignantly  to  his  feet, 
crying,  as  he  pushed  Clara  from  him,  “ You  damned 
lifeless  automaton  !”  and  rushed  away.  Clara  was  cut 
to  the  heart,  and  wept  bitterly.  “ Oh  ! he  has  never 
loved  me,  for  he  does  not  understand  me,”  she  sobbed. 

Lothair  entered  the  arbour.  Clara  was  obliged  to 
tell  him  all  that  had  taken  place,  j He  was  passionately 
fond  of  his  sister  ; and  every  word  of  her  complaint 
fell  like  a spark  upon  his  heart,  so  that  the  displeasure 
which  he  had  long  entertained  against  his  dreamy 
friend  Nathanael  was  kindled  into  furious  anger.  He 
hastened  to  find  Nathanael,  and  upbraided  him  in  harsh 
words  for  his  irrational  behaviour  towards  his  beloved 
sister.  The  fiery  Nathanael  answered  him  in  the  same 
style.  “ A fantastic,  crack-brained  fool,”  was  retaliated 
with,  “A  miserable,  common,  everyday  sort  of  fellow.” 
A meeting  was  the  inevitable  consequence.  They 
agreed  to  meet  on  the  following  morning  behind  the 
garden-wall,  and  fight,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
students  of  the  place,  with  sharp  rapiers.  They  went 
about  silent  and  gloomy  ; Clara  had  both  heard  and 
seen  the  violent  quarrel,  and  also  observed  the  fencing- 
master  bring  the  rapiers  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening. 
She  had  a presentiment  of  what  was  to  happen.  They 
both  appeared  at  the  appointed  place  wrapped  up  in 
the  same  gloomy  silence,  and  threw  off  their  coats. 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


195 


Their  eyes  flaming  with  the  bloodthirsty  light  of  pug- 
nacity, they  were  about  to  begin  their  contest  when 
Clara  burst  through  the  garden  door.  Sobbing,  she 
screamed,  “You  savage,  terrible  men!  Cut  me  down 
before  you  attack  each  other  ; for  how  can  I live  when 
my  lover  has  slain  my  brother,  or  my  brother  slain  my 
lover  ? ” Lothair  let  his  weapon  fall  and  gazed  silently 
upon  the  ground,  whilst  Nathanael’s  heart  was  rent 
with  sorrow,  and  all  the  affection  which  he  had  felt  for 
his  lovely  Clara  in  the  happiest  days  of  her  golden 
youth  was  awakened  within  him.  His  murderous 
weapon,  too,  fell  from  his  hand  ; he  threw  himself  at 
Clara’s  feet.  “ Oh  ! can  you  ever  forgive  me,  my  only, 
my  dearly  loved  Clara  ? Can  you,  my  dear  brother 
Lothair,  also  forgive  me  ? ” Lothair  was  touched  by 
his  friend’s  great  distress  ; the  three  young  people  em- 
braced each  other  amidst  endless  tears,  and  swore  never 
again  to  break  their  bond  of  love  and  fidelity. 

Nathanael  felt  as  if  a heavy  burden  that  had  been 
weighing  him  down  to  the  earth  was  now  rolled  from 
off  him,  nay,  as  if  by  offering  resistance  to  the  dark 
power  which  had  possessed  him,  he  had  rescued  his 
own  self  from  the  ruin  which  had  threatened  him. 
Three  happy  days  he  now  spent  amidst  the  loved  ones, 

and  then  returned  to  G , where  he  had  still  a year 

to  stay  before  settling  down  in  his  native  town  for  life. 

Everything  having  reference  to  Coppelius  had  been 
concealed  from  the  mother,  for  they  knew  she  could 
not  think  of  him  without  horror,  since  she  as  well  as 
Nathanael  believed  him  to  be  guilty  of  causing  her 
husband’s  death. 

When  Nathanael  came  to  the  house  where  he  lived 
he  was  greatly  astonished  to  find  it  burnt  down  to  the 
ground,  so  that  nothing  but  the  bare  outer  walls  were 


196 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


left  standing  amidst  a heap  of  ruins.  Although  the 
fire  had  broken  out  in  the  laboratory  of  the  chemist 
who  lived  on  the  ground-floor,  and  had  therefore  spread 
upwards,  some  of  Nathanael’s  bold,  active  friends  had 
succeeded  in  time  in  forcing  a way  into  his  room  in 
the  upper  storey  and  saving  his  books  and  manuscripts 
and  instruments.  They  had  carried  them  all  uninjured 
into  another  house,  where  they  engaged  a room  for 
him  ; this  he  now  at  once  took  possession  of.  That 
he  lived  opposite  Professor  Spalanzani  did  not  strike 
him  particularly,  nor  did  it  occur  to  him  as  anything 
more  singular  that  he  could,  as  he  observed,  by  looking 
out  of  his  window,  see  straight  into  the  room  where 
Olimpia  often  sat  alone.  Her  figure  he  could  plainly 
distinguish,  although  her  features  were  uncertain  and 
confused.  It  did  at  length  occur  to  him,  however,  that 
she  remained  for  hours  together  in  the  same  position 
in  which  he  had  first  discovered  her  through  the  glass 
door,  sitting  at  a little  table  without  any  occupation 
whatever,  and  it  was  evident  that  she  was  constantly 
gazing  across  in  his  direction.  He  could  not  but  con- 
fess to  himself  that  he  had  never  seen  a finer  figure. 
However,  with  Clara  mistress  of  his  heart,  he  remained 
perfectly  unaffected  by  Olimpia’s  stiffness  and  apathy  ; 
and  it  was  only  occasionally  that  he  sent  a fugitive 
glance  over  his  compendium  across  to  her — that  was  all. 

He  was  writing  to  Clara  ; a light  tap  came  at  the 
door.  At  his  summons  to  “Come  in,”  Coppola’s 
repulsive  face  appeared  peeping  in.  Nathanael  felt 
his  heart  beat  with  trepidation  ; but,  recollecting  what 
Spalanzani  had  told  him  about  his  fellow-countryman 
Coppola,  and  what  he  had  himself  so  faithfully  prom- 
ised his  beloved  in  respect  to  the  Sand-man  Cop- 
pelius,  he  was  ashamed  at  himself  for  this  childish  fear 
of  spectres.  Accordingly,  he  controlled  himself  with 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


197 


an  effort,  and  said,  as  quietly  and  as  calmly  as  he  pos- 
sibly could,  “ I don’t  want  to  buy  any  weather-glasses, 
my  good  friend  ; you  had  better  go  elsewhere.”  Then 
Coppola  came  right  into  the  room,  and  said  in  a hoarse 
voice,  screwing  up  his  wide  mouth  into  a hideous  smile, 
whilst  his  little  eyes  flashed  keenly  from  beneath  his 
long  grey  eyelashes,  “ What ! Nee  weather-gless  ? Nee 
weather-gless  ? ’ve  got  foine  oyes  as  well — foine  oyes  ! ” 
Affrighted,  Nathanael  cried,  “ You  stupid  man,  how 
can  you  have  eyes  ? — eyes — eyes  ? ” But  Coppola,  lay- 
ing aside  his  weather-glasses,  thrust  his  hands  into  his 
big  coat-pockets  and  brought  out  several  spy-glasses 
and  spectacles,  and  put  them  on  the  table.  “ Theer .' 
Theer  ! Spect’cles  ! Spect’cles  to  put  ’n  nose  ! Them’s 
my  oyes — foine  oyes.”  And  he  continued  to  produce 
more  and  more  spectacles  from  his  pockets  until  the 
table  began  to  gleam  and  flash  all  over.  Thousands  of 
eyes  were  looking  and  blinking  convulsively,  and  star- 
ing up  at  Nathanael  ; he  could  not  avert  his  gaze  from 
the  table.  Coppola  went  on  heaping  up  his  spectacles, 
whilst  wilder  and  ever  wilder  burning  flashes  crossed 
through  and  through  each  other  and  darted  their  blood- 
red  rays  into  Nathanael’s  breast.  Quite  overcome, 
and  frantic  with  terror,  he  shouted,  “ Stop  ! stop  ! you 
terrible  man  ! ” and  he  seized  Coppola  by  the  arm, 
which  he  had  again  thrust  into  his  pocket  in  order  to 
bring  out  still  more  spectacles,  although  the  whole 
table  was  covered  all  over  with  them.  With  a harsh 
disagreeable  laugh  Coppola  gently  freed  himself  ; and 
with  the  words  “ So  ! went  none  ! Well,  here  foine 
giess  ! ” he  swept  all  his  spectacles  together,  and  put 
them  back  into  his  coat-pockets,  whilst  from  a breast- 
pocket he  produced  a great  number  of  larger  and 
smaller  perspectives.  As  soon  as  the  spectacles  were 
gone  Nathanael  recovered  his  equanimity  again  ; and, 


198 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


bending  his  thoughts  upon  Clara,  he  clearly  discerned 
that  the  gruesome  incubus  had  proceeded  only  from 
himself,  as  also  that  Coppola  was  a right  honest 
mechanician  and  optician,  and  far  from  being  Coppe- 
lius’s  dreaded  double  and  ghost.  And  then,  besides, 
none  of  the  glasses  which  Coppola  now  placed  on  the 
table  had  anything  at  all  singular  about  them,  at  least 
nothing  so  weird  as  the  spectacles  ; so,  in  order  to 
square  accounts  with  himself,  Nathanael  now  really 
determined  to  buy  something  of  the  man.  He  took 
up  a small,  very  beautifully  cut  pocket  perspective, 
and  by  way  of  proving  it  looked  through  the  window. 
Never  before  in  his  life  had  he  had  a glass  in  his  hands 
that  brought  out  things  so  clearly  and  sharply  and  dis- 
tinctly. Involuntarily  he  directed  the  glass  upon  Spa- 
lanzani’s  room  ; Olimpia  sat  at  the  little  table  as  usual, 
her  arms  laid  upon  it  and  her  hands  folded.  Now  he 
saw  for  the  first  time  the  regular  and  exquisite  beauty 
of  her  features.  The  eyes,  however,  seemed  to  him  to 
have  a singular  look  of  fixity  and  lifelesness.  But  as 
he  continued  to  look  closer  and  more  carefully  through 
the  glass  he  fancied  a light  like  humid  moonbeams 
came  into  them.  It  seemed  as  if  their  power  of  vision 
was  now  being  enkindled  ; their  glances  shone  with 
ever-increasing  vivacity.  Nathanael  remained  standing 
at  the  window  as  if  glued  to  the  spot  by  a wizard’s  spell, 
his  gaze  rivetted  unchangeably  upon  the  divinely  beau- 
tiful Olimpia.  A coughing  and  shuffling  of  the  feet 
awakened  him  out  of  his  enchaining  dream,  as  it  were. 
Coppola  stood  behind  him,  “ Tre  zechini  ” (three 
ducats).  Nathanael  had  completely  forgotten  the 
optician  ; he  hastily  paid  the  sum  demanded.  “ Ain't ’t  ? 
Foine  giess  ? foine  giess  ? ” asked  Coppola  in  his  harsh 
unpleasant  voice,  smiling  sardonically.  “Yes,  yes, 
yes,”  rejoined  Nathanael  impatiently  ; “ adieu,  my  good 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


199 


friend.”  But  Coppola  did  not  leave  the  room  with- 
out casting  many  peculiar  side-glances  upon  Nathan- 
ael ; and  the  young  student  heard  him  laughing  loudly 
on  the  stairs.  “ Ah  well  ! ” thought  he,  “ he’s  laugh- 
ing at  me  because  I’ve  paid  him  too  much  for  this  little 
perspective — because  I’ve  given  him  too  much  money 
— that’s  it.”  As  he  softly  murmured  these  words  he 
fancied  he  detected  a gasping  sigh  as  of  a dying  man 
stealing  awfully  through  the  room  ; his  heart  stopped 
beating  with  fear.  But  to  be  sure  he  had  heaved  a 
deep  sigh  himself  ; it  was  quite  plain.  “ Clara  is  quite 
right,”  said  he  to  himself,  “ in  holding  me  to  be  an 
incurable  ghost-seer  ; and  yet  it’s  very  ridiculous — ay, 
more  than  ridiculous,  that  the  stupid  thought  of  having 
paid  Coppola  too  much  for  his  glass  should  cause  me 
this  strange  anxiety  ; I can’t  see  any  reason  for  it.” 
Now  he  sat  down  to  finish  his  letter  to  Clara  ; but 
a glance  through  the  window  showed  him  Olimpia 
still  in  her  former  posture.  Urged  by  an  irresistible 
impulse  he  jumped  up  and  seized  Coppola’s  perspec- 
tive ; nor  could  he  tear  himself  away  from  the  fascinat- 
ing Olimpia  until  his  friend  and  brother  Siegmund 
called  for  him  to  go  to  Professor  Spalanzani’s  lecture. 
The  curtains  before  the  door  of  the  all-important  room 
were  closely  drawn,  so  that  he  could  not  see  Olimpia. 
Nor  could  he  even  see  her  from  his  own  room  during 
the  two  following  days,  notwithstanding  that  he 
scarcely  ever  left  his  window,  and  maintained  a scarce 
interrupted  watch  through  Coppola’s  perspective  upon 
her  room.  On  the  third  day  curtains  even  were  drawn 
across  the  window.  Plunged  into  the  depths  of  despair, 
— goaded  by  longing  and  ardent  desire,  he  hurried 
outside  the  walls  of  the  town.  Olimpia's  image  hov- 
ered about  his  path  in  the  air  and  stepped  forth  out 
of  the  bushes,  and  peeped  up  at  him  with  large  and 


200 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


lustrous  eyes  from  the  bright  surface  of  the  brook 
Clara’s  image  was  completely  faded  from  his  mind ; he 
had  no  thoughts  except  for  Olimpia.  He  uttered  his 
love-plaints  aloud  and  in  a lachrymose  tone,  “ Oh  ! my 
glorious,  noble  star  of  love,  have  you  only  risen  to  van- 
ish again,  and  leave  me  in  the  darkness  and  hopeless- 
ness of  night  ? ” 

Returning  home,  he  became  aware  that  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  noisy  bustle  going  on  in  Spalanzani’s 
house.  All  the  doors  stood  wide  open  ; men  were  tak- 
ing in  all  kinds  of  gear  and  furniture  ; the  windows 
of  the  first  floor  were  all  lifted  off  their  hinges  ; busy 
maid-servants  with  immense  hair-brooms  were  driving 
backwards  and  forwards  dusting  and  sweeping,  whilst 
within  could  be  heard  the  knocking  and  hammering 
of  carpenters  and  upholsterers.  Utterly  astonished, 
Nathanael  stood  still  in  the  street ; then  Siegmund 
joined  him,  laughing,  and  said,  “Well,  what  do  you 
say  to  our  old  Spalanzani?”  Nathanael  assured  him 
that  he  could  not  say  anything,  since  he  knew  not  what 
it  all  meant  ; to  his  great  astonishment,  he  could  hear, 
however,  that  they  were  turning  the  quiet  gloomy  house 
almost  inside  out  with  their  dusting  and  cleaning  and 
making  of  alterations.  Then  he  learned  from  Siegmund 
that  Spalanzani  intended  giving  a great  concert  and  ball 
on  the  following  day,  and  that  half  the  university  was 
invited.  It  was  generally  reported  that  Spalanzani  was 
going  to  let  his  daughter  Olimpia,  whom  he  had  so 
long  so  jealously  guarded  from  every  eye,  make  her 
first  appearance. 

Nathanael  received  an  invitation.  At  the  appointed 
hour,  when  the  carriages  w^ere  rolling  up  and  the  lights 
were  gleaming  brightly  in  the  decorated  halls,  he  went 
across  to  the  Professor’s,  his  heart  beating  high  with 
expectation.  The  company  was  both  numerous  and 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


201 


brilliant.  Olimpia  was  richly  and  tastefully  dressed. 
One  could  not  but  admire  her  figure  and  the  regular 
beauty  of  her  features.  The  striking  inward  curve  of 
her  back,  as  well  as  the  wasp-like  smallness  of  her 
waist,  appeared  to  be  the  result  of  too-tight  lacing. 
There  was  something  stiff  and  measured  in  her  gait 
and  bearing  that  made  an  unfavourable  impression 
upon  many ; it  was  ascribed  to  the  constraint  imposed 
upon  her  by  the  company.  The  concert  began. 
Olimpia  played  on  the  piano  with  great  skill  ; and 
sang  as  skilfully  an  aria  di  bravura , in  a voice  which 
was,  if  anything,  almost  too  sharp,  but  clear  as  glass 
bells.  Nathanael  was  transported  with  delight ; he 
stood  in  the  background  farthest  from  her,  and  owing 
to  the  blinding  lights  could  not  quite  distinguish 
her  features.  So,  without  being  observed,  he  took 
Coppola’s  glass  out  of  his  pocket,  and  directed  it  upon 
the  beautiful  Olimpia.  Oh  ! then  he  perceived  how 
her  yearning  eyes  sought  him,  how  every  note  only 
reached  its  full  purity  in  the  loving  glance  which 
penetrated  to  and  inflamed  his  heart.  Her  artificial 
roulades  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  exultant  cry  towards 
heaven  of  the  soul  refined  by  love  ; and  when  at  last, 
after  the  cadenza,  the  long  trill  rang  shrilly  and  loudly 
through  the  hall,  he  felt  as  if  he  were  suddenly  grasped 
by  burning  arms  and  could  no  longer  control  himself, 
— he  could  not  help  shouting  aloud  in  his  mingled 
pain  and  delight,  “ Olimpia  ! ” All  eyes  were  turned 
upon  him  ; many  people  laughed.  The  face  of  the 
cathedral  organist  wore  a still  more  gloomy  look 
than  it  had  done  before,  but  all  he  said  was,  “Very 
well ! ” 

The  concert  came  to  an  end,  and  the  ball  began. 
Oh ! to  dance  with  her — with  her — that  was  now  the 
aim  of  all  Nathanael's  wishes,  of  all  his  desires.  But 


202 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


how  should  he  have  courage  to  request  her,  the  queen 
of  the  ball,  to  grant  him  the  honour  of  a dance  ? And 
yet  he  couldn’t  tell  how  it  came  about,  just  as  the 
dance  began,  he  found  himself  standing  close  beside 
her,  nobody  having  as  yet  asked  her  to  be  his  partner  ; 
so,  with  some  difficulty  stammering  out  a few  words, 
he  grasped  her  hand.  It  was  cold  as  ice  ; he  shook  with 
an  awful,  frosty  shiver.  But,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  her 
face,  he  saw  that  her  glance  was  beaming  upon  him 
with  love  and  longing,  and  at  the  same  moment  he 
thought  that  the  pulse  began  to  beat  in  her  cold  hand, 
and  the  warm  life-blood  to  course  through  her  veins. 
And  passion  burned  more  intensely  in  his  own  heart 
also  ; he  threw  his  arm  round  her  beautiful  waist  and 
whirled  her  round  the  hall.  He  had  always  thought 
that  he  kept  good  and  accurate  time  in  dancing,  but 
from  the  perfectly  rhythmical  evenness  with  which 
Olimpia  danced,  and  which  frequently  put  him  quite 
out,  he  perceived  how  very  faulty  his  own  time  really 
was.  Notwithstanding,  he  would  not  dance  with  any 
other  lady  ; and  everybody  else  who  approached  Olim- 
pia to  call  upon  her  for  a dance,  he  would  have  liked 
to  kill  on  the  spot.  This,  however,  only  happened 
twice  ; to  his  astonishment  Olimpia  remained  after 
this  without  a partner,  and  he  failed  not  on  each 
occasion  to  take  her  out  again.  If  Nathanael  had 
been  able  to  see  anything  else  except  the  beautiful 
Olimpia,  there  would  inevitably  have  been  a good  deal 
of  unpleasant  quarrelling  and  strife  ; for  it  was  evident 
that  Olimpia  was  the  object  of  the  smothered  laughter 
only  with  difficulty  suppressed,  which  was  heard  in 
various  corners  amongst  the  young  people  ; and  they 
followed  her  with  very  curious  looks,  but  nobody  knew 
for  what  reason.  Nathanael,  excited  by  dancing  and 
the  plentiful  supply  of  wine  he  had  consumed,  had  laid 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


203 


aside  the  shyness  which  at  other  times  characterised 
him.  He  sat  beside  Olimpia,  her  hand  in  his  own,  and 
declared  his  love  enthusiastically  and  passionately  in 
words  which  neither  of  them  understood,  neither  he 
nor  Olimpia.  And  yet  she  perhaps  did,  for  she  sat 
with  her  eyes  fixed  unchangeably  upon  his,  sighing 
repeatedly,  “ Ach  ! Ach  ! Ach  ! ” Upon  this  Nathanael 
would  answer,  “Oh,  you  glorious  heavenly  lady  ! You 
ray  from  the  promised  paradise  of  love  ! Oh  ! what  a 
profound  soul  you  have  ! my  whole  being  is  mirrored 
in  it!”  and  a good  deal  more  in  the  same  strain.  But 
Olimpia  only  continued  to  sigh  “ Ach  ! Ach  ! ” again 
and  again. 

Professor  Spalanzani  passed  by  the  two  happy  lovers 
once  or  twice,  and  smiled  with  a look  of  peculiar  satis- 
faction. All  at  once  it  seemed  to  Nathanael,  albeit  he 
was  far  away  in  a different  world,  as  if  it  were  growing 
perceptibly  darker  down  below  at  Professor  Spalanzani’s. 
He  looked  about  him,  and  to  his  very  great  alarm  be- 
came aware  that  there  were  only  two  lights  left  burning 
in  the  hall,  and  they  were  on  the  point  of  going  out 
The  music  and  dancing  had  long  ago  ceased.  “We 
must  part — part!”  he  cried,  wildly  and  despairingly; 
he  kissed  Olimpia’s  hand  ; he  bent  down  to  her  mouth, 
but  ice-cold  lips  met  his  burning  ones.  As  he  touched 
her  cold  hand,  he  felt  his  heart  thrilled  with  awe  ; the 
legend  of  “The  Dead  Bride”1  shot  suddenly  through 


1 Phlegon,  the  freedman  of  Hadrian,  relates  that  a young  maiden, 
Philemium,  the  daughter  of  Philostratus  and  Charitas,  became  deeply 
enamoured  of  a young  man,  named  Machates,  a guest  in  the  house  of 
her  father.  This  did  not  meet  with  the  approbation  of  her  parents, 
and  they  turned  Machates  away.  The  young  maiden  took  this  so 
much  to  heart  that  she  pined  away  and  died.  Some  time  afterwards 
Machates  returned  to  his  old  lodgings,  when  he  was  visited  at  night  by 
his  beloved,  who  came  from  the  grave  to  see  him  again.  The  story 


204 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


his  mind.  But  Olimpia  had  drawn  him  closer  to  her, 
and  the  kiss  appeared  to  warm  her  lips  into  vitality. 
Professor  Spalanzani  strode  slowly  through  the  empty 
apartment,  his  footsteps  giving  a hollow  echo  ; and  his 
figure  had,  as  the  flickering  shadows  played  about  him, 
a ghostly,  awful  appearance.  “ Do  you  love  me  ? Do 
you  love  me,  Olimpia  ? Only  one  little  word — Do  you 
love  me  ?”  whispered  Nathanael,  but  she  only  sighed, 
“Ach!  Ach!”  as  she  rose  to  her  feet.  “Yes,  you 
are  my  lovely,  glorious  star  of  love,”  said  Nathanael, 
“and  will  shine  for  ever,  purifying  and  ennobling  my 
heart.”  “Ach  ! Ach  !”  replied  Olimpia,  as  she  moved 
along.  Nathanael  followed  her  ; they  stood  before  the 
Professor.  “You  have  had  an  extraordinarily  animated 
conversation  with  my  daughter,”  said  he,  smiling ; 
“well,  well,  my  dear  Mr.  Nathanael,  if  you  find  pleas- 
ure in  talking  to  the  stupid  girl,  I am  sure  I shall  be 
glad  for  you  to  come  and  do  so.”  Nathanael  took  his 
leave,  his  heart  singing  and  leaping  in  a perfect 
delirium  of  happiness. 

During  the  next  few  days  Spalanzani’s  ball  was  the 
general  topic  of  conversation.  Although  the  Professor 
had  done  everything  to  make  the  thing  a splendid  suc- 
cess, yet  certain  gay  spirits  related  more  than  one  thing 
that  had  occurred  which  was  quite  irregular  and  out  of 
order.  They  were  especially  keen  in  pulling  Olimpia 
to  pieces  for  her  taciturnity  and  rigid  stiffness  ; in  spite 
of  her  beautiful  form  they  alleged  that  she  was  hope- 
lessly stupid,  and  in  this  fact  they  discerned  the  reason 
why  Spalanzani  had  so  long  kept  her  concealed  from 
publicity.  Nathanael  heard  all  this  with  inward  wrath, 

maybe  read  in  Heywood’s  (Thos.)  “ Hierarchie  of  Blessed  Angels,” 
Book  vii.,  p.  479  (London,  1637).  Goethe  has  made  this  story  the 
foundation  of  his  beautiful  poem  Die  Braut  von  Korinth , with  which 
form  of  it  Hoffmann  was  most  likely  familiar. 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


205 


but  nevertheless  he  held  his  tongue  ; for,  thought  he, 
would  it  indeed  be  worth  while  to  prove  to  these  fel- 
lows that  it  is  their  own  stupidity  which  prevents  them 
from  appreciating  Olimpia’s  profound  and  brilliant 
parts  ? One  day  Siegmund  said  to  him,  “ Pray,  brother, 
have  the  kindness  to  tell  me  how  you,  a sensible  fellow, 
came  to  lose  your  head  over  that  Miss  Wax-face — that 
wooden  doll  across  there  ? ” Nathanael  was  about  to 
fly  into  a rage,  but  he  recollected  himself  and  replied, 
“Tell  me,  Siegmund,  how  came  it  that  Olimpia’s  divine 
charms  could  escape  your  eye,  so  keenly  alive  as  it 
always  is  to  beauty,  and  your  acute  perception  as  well  ? 
But  Heaven  be  thanked  for  it,  otherwise  I should  have 
had  you  for  a rival,  and  then  the  blood  of  one  of  us 
would  have  had  to  be  spilled.”  Siegmund,  perceiving 
how  matters  stood  with  his  friend,  skilfully  interposed 
and  said,  after  remarking  that  all  argument  with  one  in 
love  about  the  object  of  his  affections  was  out  of  place, 
“ Yet  it’s  very  strange  that  several  of  us  have  formed 
pretty  much  the  same  opinion  about  Olimpia.  We 
think  she  is — you  won’t  take  it  ill,  brother  ? — that  she  is 
singularly  statuesque  and  soulless.  Her  figure  is  reg- 
ular, and  so  are  her  features,  that  can’t  be  gainsaid  ; 
and  if  her  eyes  were  not  so  utterly  devoid  of  life,  I may 
say,  of  the  power  of  vision,  she  might  pass  for  a beauty. 
She  is  strangely  measured  in  her  movements,  they  all 
seem  as  if  they  were  dependent  upon  some  wound-up 
clock-work.  Her  playing  and  singing  has  the  disagree- 
ably perfect,  but  insensitive  time  of  a singing  machine, 
and  her  dancing  is  the  same.  We  felt  quite  afraid  of 
this  Olimpia,  and  did  not  like  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  her  ; she  seemed  to  us  to  be  only  acting  like  a liv- 
ing creature,  and  as  if  there  was  some  secret  at  the  bot- 
tom of  it  all.”  Nathanael  did  not  give  way  to  the  bitter 
feelings  which  threatened  to  master  him  at  these  words 


2o6 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


of  Siegmund’s  ; lie  fought  down  and  got  the  better  of 
his  displeasure,  and  merely  said,  very  earnestly,  “You 
cold  prosaic  fellows  may  very  well  be  afraid  of  her. 
It  is  only  to  its  like  that  the  poetically  organised  spirit 
unfolds  itself.  Upon  me  alone  did  her  loving  glances 
fall,  and  through  my  mind  and  thoughts  alone  did  they 
radiate  ; and  only  in  her  love  can  I find  my  own  self 
again.  Perhaps,  however,  she  doesn’t  do  quite  right 
not  to  jabber  a lot  of  nonsense  and  stupid  talk  like 
other  shallow  people.  It  is  true,  she  speaks  but  few 
words  ; but  the  few  words  she  does  speak  are  genuine 
hieroglyphs  of  the  inner  world  of  Love  and  of  the 
higher  cognition  of  the  intellectual  life  revealed  in  the 
intuition  of  the  Eternal  beyond  the  grave.  But  you 
have  no  understanding  for  all  these  things,  and  I am 
only  wasting  words.”  “God  be  with  you,  brother,” 
said  Siegmund  very  gently,  almost  sadly,  “ but  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  are  in  a very  bad  way.  You  may  rely 
upon  me,  if  all — No,  I can’t  say  any  more.”  It  all  at 
once  dawned  upon  Nathanael  that  his  cold  prosaic 
friend  Siegmund  really  and  sincerely  wished  him  well, 
and  so  he  warmly  shook  his  proffered  hand. 

Nathanael  had  completely  forgotten  that  there  was 
a Clara  in  the  world,  whom  he  had  once  loved — and 
his  mother  and  Lothair.  They  had  all  vanished  from 
his  mind  ; he  lived  for  Olimpia  alone.  He  sat  beside 
her  every  day  for  hours  together,  rhapsodising  about 
his  love  and  sympathy  enkindled  into  life,  and  about 
psychic  elective  affinity  1 — all  of  which  Olimpia  listened 
to  with  great  reverence.  He  fished  up  from  the  very 
bottom  of  his  desk  all  the  things  that  he  had  ever  writ- 
ten— poems,  fancy  sketches,  visions,  romances,  tales, 


1 This  phrase  (Die  Wahlverwandschaft  in  German)  has  been  made 
celebrated  as  the  title  of  one  of  Goethe’s  works. 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


207 


and  the  heap  was  increased  daily  with  all  kinds  of  aim- 
less sonnets,  stanzas,  canzonets.  All  these  he  read  to 
Olimpia  hour  after  hour  without  growing  tired  ; but 
then  he  had  never  had  such  an  exemplary  listener. 
She  neither  embroidered,  nor  knitted  ; she  did  not  look 
out  of  the  window,  or  feed  a bird,  or  play  with  a little 
pet  dog  or  a favourite  cat,  neither  did  she  twist  a piece 
of  paper  or  anything  of  that  kind  round  her  finger  ; she 
did  not  forcibly  convert  a yawn  into  a low  affected 
cough — in  short,  she  sat  hour  after  hour  with  her  eyes 
bent  unchangeably  upon  her  lover’s  face,  without  mov- 
ing or  altering  her  position,  and  her  gaze  grew  more 
ardent  and  more  ardent  still.  And  it  was  only  when  at 
last  Nathanael  rose  and  kissed  her  lips  or  her  hand  that 
she  said,  “Ach!  Ach  ! ” and  then  “Good-night,  dear.” 
Arrived  in  his  own  room,  Nathanael  would  break  out 
with,  “Oh!  what  a brilliant — what  a profound  mind! 
Only  you — you  alone  understand  me.”  And  his  heart 
trembled  with  rapture  when  he  reflected  upon  the  won- 
drous harmony  which  daily  revealed  itself  between  his 
own  and  his  Olimpia’s  character  ; for  he  fancied  that  she 
had  expressed  in  respect  to  his  works  and  his  poetic 
genius  the  identical  sentiments  which  he  himself  cher- 
ished deep  down  in  his  own  heart  in  respect  to  the  same, 
and  even  as  if  it  was  his  own  heart’s  voice  speaking  to 
him.  And  it  must  indeed  have  been  so  ; for  Olimpia 
never  uttered  any  other  words  than  those  already  men- 
tioned. And  when  Nathanael  himself  in  his  clear  and 
sober  moments,  as,  for  instance,  directly  after  waking 
in  a morning,  thought  about  her  utter  passivity  and 
taciturnity,  he  only  said,  “ What  are  words — but  words  ? 
The  glance  of  her  heavenly  eyes  says  more  than  any 
tongue  of  earth.  And  how  can,  anyway,  a child  of 
heaven  accustom  herself  to  the  narrow  circle  which  the 
exigencies  of  a wretched  mundane  life  demand  ? ” 


208 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


Professor  Spalanzani  appeared  to  be  greatly  pleased 
at  the  intimacy  that  had  sprung  up  between  his  daugh- 
ter Olimpia  and  Nathanael,  and  showed  the  young  man 
many  unmistakable  proofs  of  his  good  feeling  towards 
him  ; and  when  Nathanael  ventured  at  length  to  hint 
very  delicately  at  an  alliance  with  Olimpia,  the  Pro- 
fessor smiled  all  over  his  face  at  once,  and  said  he 
should  allow  his  daughter  to  make  a perfectly  free 
choice.  Encouraged  by  these  words,  and  with  the  fire 
of  desire  burning  in  his  heart,  Nathanael  resolved  the 
very  next  day  to  implore  Olimpia  to  tell  him  frankly, 
in  plain  words,  what  he  had  long  read  in  her  sweet 
loving  glances, — that  she  would  be  his  for  ever.  He 
looked  for  the  ring  which  his  mother  had  given  him  at 
parting  ; he  would  present  it  to  Olimpia  as  a symbol  of 
his  devotion,  and  of  the  happy  life  he  was  to  lead  with 
her  from  that  time  onwards.  Whilst  looking  for  it  he 
came  across  his  letters  from  Clara  and  Lothair ; he 
threw  them  carelessly  aside,  found  the  ring,  put  it  in 
his  pocket,  and  ran  across  to  Olimpia.  Whilst  still  on 
the  stairs,  in  the  entrance-passage,  he  heard  an  extra- 
ordinary hubbub  ; the  noise  seemed  to  proceed  from 
Spalanzani’s  study.  There  was  a stamping — a rattling 
— pushing — knocking  against  the  door,  with  curses  and 
oaths  intermingled.  “ Leave  hold — leave  hold — you 
monster — you  rascal — staked  your  life  and  honour  upon 
it  ? — Ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! — That  was  not  our  wager — I,  I 
made  the  eyes — I the  clock-work. — Go  to  the  devil  with 
your  clock-work — you  damned  dog  of  a watch-maker — 
be  off — Satan — stop — you  paltry  turner — you  infernal 
beast! — stop — begone — let  me  go.”  The  voices  which 
were  thus  making  all  this  racket  and  rumpus  were 
those  of  Spalanzani  and  the  fearsome  Coppelius.  Na- 
thanael rushed  in,  impelled  by  some  nameless  dread. 
The  Professor  was  grasping  a female  figure  by  the 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


209 


shoulders,  the  Italian  Coppola  held  her  by  the  feet ; 
and  they  were  pulling  and  dragging  each  other  back- 
wards and  forwards,  fighting  furiously  to  get  possession 
of  her.  Nathanael  recoiled  with  horror  on  recognising 
that  the  figure  was  Olimpia.  Boiling  with  rage,  he  was 
about  to  tear  his  beloved  from  the  grasp  of  the  mad- 
men, when  Coppola  by  an  extraordinary  exertion  of 
strength  twisted  the  figure  out  of  the  Professor’s  hands 
and  gave  him  such  a terrible  blow  with  her,  that  he 
reeled  backwards  and  fell  over  the  table  all  amongst 
the  phials  and  retorts,  the  bottles  and  glass  cylinders, 
which  covered  it  : all  these  things  were  smashed  into  a 
thousand  pieces.  But  Coppola  threw  the  figure  across 
his  shoulder,  and,  laughing  shrilly  and  horribly,  ran 
hastily  down  the  stairs,  the  figure’s  ugly  feet  hanging 
down  and  banging  and  rattling  like  wood  against  the 
steps.  Nathanael  was  stupefied  ; — he  had  seen  only  too 
distinctly  that  in  Olimpia’s  pallid  waxed  face  there  were 
no  eyes,  merely  black  holes  in  their  stead  ; she  was  an 
inanimate  puppet.  Spalanzani  was  rolling  on  the  floor ; 
the  pieces  of  glass  had  cut  his  head  and  breast  and 
arm  ; the  blood  was  escaping  from  him  in  streams. 
But  he  gathered  his  strength  together  by  an  effort. 

“After  him — after  him  ! What  do  you  stand  staring 
there  for  ? Coppelius — Coppelius — he’s  stolen  my  best 
automaton — at  which  I’ve  worked  for  twenty  years — 
staked  my  life  upon  it — the  clock-work — speech — 
movement — mine — your  eyes — stolen  your  eyes — damn 
him — curse  him — after  him — fetch  me  back  Olimpia — 
there  are  the  eyes.”  And  now  Nathanael  saw  a pair  of 
bloody  eyes  lying  on  the  floor  staring  at  him  ; Spalan- 
zani seized  them  with  his  uninjured  hand  and  threw 
them  at  him,  so  that  they  hit  his  breast.  Then  mad- 
ness dug  her  burning  talons  into  him  and  swept  down 
into  his  heart,  rending  his  mind  and  thoughts  to  shreds. 


210 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


“Aha  ! aha  ! aha  ! Fire-wheel — fire-wheel ! Spin  round, 
fire-wheel ! merrily,  merrily!  Aha  ! wooden  doll ! spin 
round,  pretty  wooden  doll ! ” and  he  threw  himself 
upon  the  Professor,  clutching  him  fast  by  the  throat. 
He  would  certainly  have  strangled  him  had  not  several 
people,  attracted  by  the  noise,  rushed  in  and  torn  away 
the  madman  ; and  so  they  saved  the  Professor,  whose 
wounds  were  immediately  dressed.  Siegmund,  with  all 
his  strength,  was  not  able  to  subdue  the  frantic  lunatic, 
who  continued  to  scream  in  a dreadful  way,  “ Spin 
round,  wooden  doll  ! ” and  to  strike  out  right  and  left 
with  his  doubled  fists.  At  length  the  united  strength 
of  several  succeeded  in  overpowering  him  by  throwing 
him  on  the  floor  and  binding  him.  His  cries  passed 
into  a brutish  bellow  that  was  awful  to  hear  ; and  thus 
raging  with  the  harrowing  violence  of  madness,  he  was 
taken  away  to  the  madhouse. 

Before  continuing  my  narration  of  what  happened 
further  to  the  unfortunate  Nathanael,  I will  tell  you, 
indulgent  reader,  in  case  you  take  any  interest  in  that 
skilful  mechanician  and  fabricator  of  automata,  Spa- 
lanzani,  that  he  recovered  completely  from  his  wounds. 
He  had,  however,  to  leave  the  university,  for  Natha- 
nael’s fate  had  created  a great  sensation  ; and  the  opin- 
ion was  pretty  generally  expressed  that  it  was  an 
imposture  altogether  unpardonable  to  have  smuggled 
a wooden  puppet  instead  of  a living  person  into  in- 
telligent tea-circles, — for  Olimpia  had  been  present  at 
several  with  success.  Lawyers  called  it  a cunning 
piece  of  knavery,  and  all  the  harder  to  punish  since  it 
was  directed  against  the  public  ; and  it  had  been  so 
craftily  contrived  that  it  had  escaped  unobserved  by  all 
except  a few  preternaturally  acute  students,  although 
everybody  was  very  wise  now  and  remembered  to 
have  thought  of  several  facts  which  occurred  to  them 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


21 1 


as  suspicious.  But  these  latter  could  not  succeed  in 
making  out  any  sort  of  a consistent  tale.  For  was  it, 
for  instance,  a thing  likely  to  occur  to  any  one  as  sus- 
picious that,  according  to  the  declaration  of  an  elegant 
beau  of  these  tea-parties,  Olimpia  had,  contrary  to  all 
good  manners,  sneezed  oftener  than  she  had  yawned  ? 
The  former  must  have  been,  in  the  opinion  of  this 
elegant  gentleman,  the  winding  up  of  the  concealed 
clock-work  ; it  had  always  been  accompanied  by  an 
observable  creaking,  and  so  on.  The  Professor  of 
Poetry  and  Eloquence  took  a pinch  of  snuff,  and,  slap- 
ping the  lid  to  and  clearing  his  throat,  said  solemnly, 
“ My  most  honourable  ladies  and  gentlemen,  don’t 
you  see  then  where  the  rub  is  ? The  whole  thing  is 
an  allegory,  a continuous  metaphor.  You  understand 
me  ? Sapienti  sat.”  But  several  most  honourable  gen- 
tlemen did  not  rest  satisfied  with  this  explanation  ; 
the  history  of  this  automaton  had  sunk  deeply  into 
their  souls,  and  an  absurd  mistrust  of  human  figures 
began  to  prevail.  Several  lovers,  in  order  to  be  fully 
convinced  that  they  were  not  paying  court  to  a wooden 
puppet,  required  that  their  mistress  should  sing  and 
dance  a little  out  of  time,  should  embroider  or  knit  or 
play  with  her  little  pug,  &c.,  when  being  read  to,  but 
above  all  things  else  that  she  should  do  something 
more  than  merely  listen — that  she  should  frequently 
speak  in  such  a way  as  to  really  show  that  her  words 
presupposed  as  a condition  some  thinking  and  feeling. 
The  bonds  of  love  were  in  many  cases  drawn  closer  in 
consequence,  and  so  of  course  became  more  engaging  ; 
in  other  instances  they  gradually  relaxed  and  fell  away. 
“ I cannot  really  be  made  responsible  for  it,”  was  the 
remark  of  more  than  one  young  gallant.  At  the  tea- 
gatherings  everybody,  in  order  to  ward  off  suspicion, 
yawned  to  an  incredible  extent  and  never  sneezed. 


212 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


Spalanzani  was  obliged,  as  has  been  said,  to  leave  the 
place  in  order  to  escape  a criminal  charge  of  having 
fraudulently  imposed  an  automaton  upon  human  so- 
ciety. Coppola,  too,  had  also  disappeared. 

When  Nathanael  awoke  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  op- 
pressed by  a terrible  nightmare  ; he  opened  his  eyes 
and  experienced  an  indescribable  sensation  of  mental 
comfort,  whilst  a soft  and  most  beautiful  sensation  of 
warmth  pervaded  his  body.  He  lay  on  his  own  bed  in 
his  own  room  at  home  ; Clara  was  bending  over  him, 
and  at  a little  distance  stood  his  mother  and  Lothair. 
“At  last,  at  last,  O my  darling  Nathanael;  now  we 
have  you  again  ; now  you  are  cured  of  your  grievous 
illness,  now  you  are  mine  again.”  And  Clara’s  words 
came  from  the  depths  of  her  heart ; and  she  clasped 
him  in  her  arms.  The  bright  scalding  tears  streamed 
from  his  eyes,  he  was  so  overcome  with  mingled  feel- 
ings of  sorrow  and  delight  ; and  he  gasped  forth,  “ My 
Clara,  my  Clara ! ” Siegmund,  who  had  staunchly 
stood  by  his  friend  in  his  hour  of  need,  now  came  into 
the  room.  Nathanael  gave  him  his  hand — “ My  faith- 
ful brother,  you  have  not  deserted  me.”  Every  trace 
of  insanity  had  left  him,  and  in  the  tender  hands  of  his 
mother  and  his  beloved,  and  his  friends,  he  quickly  re- 
covered his  strength  again.  Good  fortune  had  in  the 
meantime  visited  the  house  ; a niggardly  old  uncle, 
from  whom  they  had  never  expected  to  get  an5rthing, 
had  died,  and  left  Nathanael’s  mother  not  only  a con- 
siderable fortune,  but  also  a small  estate,  pleasantly 
situated  not  far  from  the  town.  There  they  resolved 
to  go  and  live,  Nathanael  and  his  mother,  and  Clara, 
to  whom  he  was  now  to  be  married,  and  Lothair. 
Nathanael  was  become  gentler  and  more  childlike  than 
he  had  ever  been  before,  and  now  began  really  to  un- 
derstand Clara’s  supremely  pure  and  noble  character. 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


213 


None  of  them  ever  reminded  him,  even  in  the  remotest 
degree,  of  the  past.  But  when  Siegmund  took  leave 
of  him,  he  said,  “By  heaven,  brother!  I was  in  a bad 
way,  but  an  angel  came  just  at  the  right  moment  and 
led  me  back  upon  the  path  of  light.  Yes,  it  was  Clara.” 
Siegmund  would  not  let  him  speak  further,  fearing  lest 
the  painful  recollections  of  the  past  might  arise  too 
vividly  and  too  intensely  in  his  mind. 

The  time  came  for  the  four  happy  people  to  move  to 
their  little  property.  At  noon  they  were  going  through 
the  streets.  After  making  several  purchases  they  found 
that  the  lofty  tower  of  the  town-house  was  throwing 
its  giant  shadows  across  the  market-place.  “ Come,” 
said  Clara,  “ let  us  go  up  to  the  top  once  more  and 
have  a look  at  the  distant  hills.”  No  sooner  said  than 
done.  Both  of  them,  Nathanael  and  Clara,  went  up 
the  tower ; their  mother,  however,  went  on  with  the 
servant-girl  to  her  new  home,  and  Lothair,  not  feeling 
inclined  to  climb  up  all  the  many  steps,  waited  below. 
There  the  two  lovers  stood  arm-in-arm  on  the  topmost 
gallery  of  the  tower,  and  gazed  out  into  the  sweet- 
scented  wooded  landscape,  beyond  which  the  blue  hills 
rose  up  like  a giant’s  city. 

“ Oh  ! do  look  at  that  strange  little  grey  bush,  it 
looks  as  if  it  were  actually  walking  towards  us,”  said 
Clara.  Mechanically  he  put  his  hand  into  his  side- 
pocket  ; he  found  Coppola’s  perspective  and  looked  for 
the  bush  ; Clara  stood  in  front  of  the  glass.  Then  a 
convulsive  thrill  shot  through  his  pulse  and  veins  ; 
pale  as  a corpse,  he  fixed  his  staring  eyes  upon  her  ; 
but  soon  they  began  to  roll,  and  a fiery  current  flashed 
and  sparkled  in  them,  and  he  yelled  fearfully,  like  a 
hunted  animal.  Leaping  up  high  in  the  air  and 
laughing  horribly  at  the  same  time,  he  began  to  shout, 
in  a piercing  voice,  “ Spin  round,  wooden  doll  ! Spin 


214 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


round,  wooden  doll ! ” With  the  strength  of  a giant  he 
laid  hold  upon  Clara  and  tried  to  hurl  her  over,  but  in 
an  agony  of  despair  she  clutched  fast  hold  of  the 
railing  that  went  round  the  gallery.  Lothair  heard 
the  madman  raging  and  Clara’s  scream  of  terror : a 
fearful  presentiment  flashed  across  his  mind.  He  ran 
up  the  steps  ; the  door  of  the  second  flight  was  locked. 
Clara’s  scream  for  help  rang  out  more  loudly.  Mad 
with  rage  and  fear,  he  threw  himself  against  the  door, 
which  at  length  gave  way.  Clara’s  cries  were  growing 
fainter  and  fainter, — “ Help  ! save  me  ! save  me  ! ” and 
her  voice  died  away  in  the  air.  “She  is  killed — mur- 
dered by  that  madman,”  shouted  Lothair.  The  door 
to  the  gallery  was  also  locked.  Despair  gave  him  the 
strength  of  a giant  ; he  burst  the  door  off  its  hinges. 
Good  God ! there  was  Clara  in  the  grasp  of  the  mad- 
man Nathanael,  hanging  over  the  gallery  in  the  air ; 
she  only  held  to  the  iron  bar  with  one  hand.  Quick 
as  lightning,  Lothair  seized  his  sister  and  pulled  her 
back,  at  the  same  time  dealing  the  madman  a blow  in 
the  face  with  his  doubled  fist,  which  sent  him  reeling 
backwards,  forcing  him  to  let  go  his  victim. 

Lothair  ran  down  with  his  insensible  sister  in  his 
arms.  She  was  saved.  But  Nathanael  ran  round  and 
round  the  gallery,  leaping  up  in  the  air  and  shouting, 
“Spin  round,  fire-wheel!  Spin  round,  fire-wheel!” 
The  people  heard  the  wild  shouting,  and  a crowd  began 
to  gather.  In  the  midst  of  them  towered  the  advocate 
Coppelius,  like  a giant ; he  had  only  just  arrived  in  the 
town,  and  had  gone  straight  to  the  market-place.  Some 
were  going  up  to  overpower  and  take  charge  of  the 
madman,  but  Coppelius  laughed  and  said,  “ Ha  ! ha  ! 
wait  a bit  ; he’ll  come  down  of  his  own  accord  ; ” and  he 
stood  gazing  upwards  along  with  the  rest.  All  at  once 
Nathanael  stopped  as  if  spell-bound  ; he  bent  down  over 


THE  SAND-MAN. 


215 


the  railing,  and  perceived  Coppelius.  With  a piercing 
scream,  “ Ha  ! foine  oyes  ! foine  oyes  ! ” he  leapt  over. 

When  Nathanael  lay  on  the  stone  pavement  with  a 
broken  head,  Coppelius  had  disappeared  in  the  crush 
and  confusion. 

Several  years  afterwards  it  was  reported  that,  outside 
the  door  of  a pretty  country  house  in  a remote  district, 
Clara  had  been  seen  sitting  hand  in  hand  with  a pleas- 
ant gentleman,  whilst  two  bright  boys  were  playing  at 
her  feet.  From  this  it  may  be  concluded  that  she 
eventually  found  that  quiet  domestic  happiness  which 
her  cheerful,  blithesome  character  required,  and  which 
Nathanael,  with  his  tempest-tossed  soul,  could  never 
have  been  able  to  give  her. 


THE  ENTAIL. 


]\TOT  far  from  the  shore  of  the  Baltic  Sea  is  situated 

* ^ the  ancestral  castle  of  the  noble  family  Von  R , 

called  R — sitten.  It  is  a wild  and  desolate  neighbour- 
hood, hardly  anything  more  than  a single  blade  of 
grass  shooting  up  here  and  there  from  the  bottomless 
drift-sand  ; and  instead  of  the  garden  that  generally 
ornaments  a baronial  residence,  the  bare  walls  are  ap- 
proached on  the  landward  side  by  a thin  forest  of  firs, 
that  with  their  never-changing  vesture  of  gloom  de- 
spise the  bright  garniture  of  Spring,  and  where,  instead 
of  the  joyous  carolling  of  little  birds  awakened  anew 
to  gladness,  nothing  is  heard  but  the  ominous  croak  of 
the  raven  and  the  whirring  scream  of  the  storm-boding 
sea-gull.  A quarter  of  a mile  distant  Nature  suddenly 
changes.  As  if  by  the  wave  of  a magician’s  wand  you 
are  transported  into  the  midst  of  thriving  fields,  fertile 
arable  land,  and  meadows.  You  see,  too,  the  large  and 
prosperous  village,  with  the  land-steward’s  spacious 
dwelling-house  ; and  at  the  angle  of  a pleasant  thicket 
of  alders  you  may  observe  the  foundations  of  a large 
castle,  which  one  of  the  former  proprietors  had  in- 
tended to  erect.  His  successors,  however,  living  on 
their  property  in  Courland,  left  the  building  in  its 
unfinished  state  : nor  would  Freiherr  1 Roderick  von 


1 Freiherr  = Baron,  though  not  exactly  in  the  present  significance  of 
the  term  in  Germany.  A Freiherr  belongs  to  the  “superior  nobility,” 


THE  ENTAIL. 


217 


R proceed  with  the  structure  when  he  again  took 

up  his  residence  on  the  ancestral  estate,  since  the 
lonely  old  castle  was  more  suitable  to  his  temperament, 
which  was  morose  and  averse  to  human  society.  He 
had  its  ruinous  walls  repaired  as  well  as  circumstances 
would  admit,  and  then  shut  himself  up  within  them 
along  with  a cross-grained  house-steward  and  a slender 
establishment  of  servants. 

He  was  seldom  seen  in  the  village,  but  on  the  other 
hand  he  often  walked  and  rode  along  the  sea-beach  ; 
and  people  claimed  to  have  heard  him  from  a distance, 
talking  to  the  waves  and  listening  to  the  rolling  and 
hissing  of  the  surf,  as  though  he  could  hear  the  answer- 
ing voice  of  the  spirit  of  the  sea.  Upon  the  topmost 
summit  of  the  watch-tower  he  had  a sort  of  study  fitted 
up  and  supplied  with  telescopes — with  a complete  set 
of  astronomical  apparatus,  in  fact.  Thence  during  the 
daytime  he  frequently  watched  the  ships  sailing  past 
on  the  distant  horizon  like  white-winged  sea-gulls  ; and 
there  he  spent  the  starlight  nights  engaged  in  astro- 
nomical, or,  as  some  professed  to  know,  with  astrologi- 
cal labours,  in  which  the  old  house-steward  assisted 
him.  At  any  rate  the  rumour  was  current  during  his 
own  lifetime  that  he  was  devoted  to  the  occult  sciences 
or  the  so-called  Black  Art,  and  that  he  had  been  driven 
out  of  Courland  in  consequence  of  the  failure  of  an 
experiment  by  which  an  august  princely  house  had 
been  most  seriously  offended.  The  slightest  allusion 
to  his  residence  in  Courland  filled  him  with  horror  ; 
but  for  all  the  troubles  which  had  there  unhinged  the 

and  is  a Baron  of  the  older  nobility  of  the  Middle  Ages  ; and  he  ranks 
immediately  after  a Count  (Graf).  The  title  Baron  is  now  restricted 
to  comparatively  newer  creations,  and  its  bearer  belongs  to  the  “lower 
nobility.”  In  this  tale  “Freiherr”  and  “Baron”  are  used  indiffer- 
ently. 


2l8 


THE  ENTAIL. 


tenor  of  his  life  he  held  his  predecessors  entirely  to 
blame,  in  that  they  had  wickedly  deserted  the  home  of 
their  ancestors.  In  order  to  fetter,  for  the  future,  at 
least  the  head  of  the  family  to  the  ancestral  castle,  he 
converted  it  into  a property  of  entail.  The  sovereign 
was  the  more  willing  to  ratify  this  arrangement  since 
by  its  means  he  would  secure  for  his  country  a family 
distinguished  for  all  chivalrous  virtues,  and  which  had 
already  begun  to  ramify  into  foreign  countries. 

Neither  Roderick’s  son  Hubert,  nor  the  next  Roder- 
ick, who  was  so  called  after  his  grandfather,  would  live 
in  their  ancestral  castle  ; both  preferred  Courland.  It 
is  conceivable,  too,  that,  being  more  cheerful  and  fond 
of  life  than  the  gloomy  astrologer,  they  were  repelled 
by  the  grim  loneliness  of  the  place.  Freiherr  Roder- 
ick had  granted  shelter  and  subsistence  on  the  propertv 
to  two  old  maids,  sisters  of  his  father,  who  wTere  living 
in  indigence,  having  been  but  niggardly  provided  for. 
They,  together  with  an  aged  serving-woman,  occupied 
the  small  warm  rooms  of  one  of  the  wings  ; besides 
them  and  the  cook,  who  had  a large  apartment  on  the 
ground  floor  adjoining  the  kitchen,  the  only  other 
person  was  a worn-out  chasseur , who  tottered  about 
through  the  lofty  rooms  and  halls  of  the  main  building, 
and  discharged  the  duties  of  castellan.  The  rest  of  the 
servants  lived  in  the  village  with  the  land-steward. 
The  only  time  at  which  the  desolated  and  deserted 
castle  became  the  scene  of  life  and  activity  was  late  in 
autumn,  when  the  snow  first  began  to  fall  and  the  sea- 
son for  wolf-hunting  and  boar-hunting  arrived.  Then 
came  Freiherr  Roderick  with  his  wife,  attended  by  rel- 
atives and  friends  and  a numerous  retinue,  from  Cour- 
land. The  neighbouring  nobility,  and  even  amateur 
lovers  of  the  chase  who  lived  in  the  town  hard  by,  came 
down  in  such  numbers  that  the  main  building,  together 


THE  ENTAIL. 


219 


with  the  wings,  barely  sufficed  to  hold  the  crowd  of 
guests.  Well-served  fires  roared  in  all  the  stoves  and 
fireplaces,  wThile  the  spits  were  creaking  from  early 
dawn  until  late  at  night,  and  hundreds  of  light-hearted 
people,  masters  and  servants,  were  running  up  and 
down  stairs  ; here  was  heard  the  jingling  and  rattling 
of  drinking  glasses  and  jovial  hunting  choruses,  there 
the  footsteps  of  those  dancing  to  the  sound  of  the 
shrill  music, — everywhere  loud  mirth  and  jollity  ; so 
that  for  four  or  five  weeks  together  the  castle  was  more 
like  a first-rate  hostelry  situated  on  a main  highroad 
than  the  abode  of  a country  gentleman.  This  time 
Freiherr  Roderick  devoted,  as  wrell  as  he  was  able,  to 
serious  business,  for,  withdrawing  from  the  revelry  of 
his  guests,  he  discharged  the  duties  attached  to  his  po- 
sition as  lord  of  the  entail.  He  not  only  had  a com- 
plete statement  of  the  revenues  laid  before  him,  but  he 
listened  to  every  proposal  for  improvement  and  to 
every  the  least  complaint  of  his  tenants,  endeavouring 
to  establish  order  in  everything,  and  check  all  wrong- 
doing and  injustice  as  far  as  lay  in  his  power. 

In  these  matters  of  business  he  was  honestly  assisted 

by  the  old  advocate  V , who  had  been  law  agent  of 

the  R family  and  Justitiarius  1 of  their  estates  in 

P from  father  to  son  for  many  years  ; accordingly, 

V  was  wont  to  set  out  for  the  estate  at  least  a week 

before  the  day  fixed  for  the  arrival  of  the  Freiherr.  In 
the  year  179-  the  time  came  round  again  when  old 

V  was  to  start  on  his  journey  for  R— sitten.  How- 

ever strong  and  healthy  the  old  man,  now  seventy  years 
of  age,  might  feel,  he  was  yet  quite  assured  that  a help- 

1 The  Justitiarius  acted  as  justiciary  in  the  seignorial  courts  of  jus- 
tice, which  were  amongst  the  privileges  accorded  to  the  nobility  of 
certain  ranks,  in  certain  cases,  by  the  feudal  institutions  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  This  privilege  the  R family  is  represented  as  exercising. 


220 


THE  ENTAIL. 


ing  hand  would  prove  beneficial  to  him  in  his  business. 
So  he  said  to  me  one  day  as  if  in  jest,  “Cousin!”  (I 
was  his  great-nephew,  but  he  called  me  “ cousin,”  owing 
to  the  fact  that  his  own  Christian  name  and  mine  were 
both  the  same) — “Cousin,  I was  thinking  it  would  not 
be  amiss  if  you  went  along  wdth  me  to  R — sitten  and 
felt  the  sea-breezes  blow  about  your  ears  a bit.  Be- 
sides giving  me  good  help  in  my  often  laborious  work, 
you  may  for  once  in  a while  see  how  you  like  the  rol- 
licking life  of  a hunter,  and  how,  after  drawing  up  a 
neatly-written  protocol  one  morning,  you  will  frame 
the  next  when  you  come  to  look  in  the  glaring  eyes  of 
such  a sturdy  brute  as  a grim  shaggy  wolf  or  a wild 
boar  gnashing  his  teeth,  and  whether  you  know  how  to 
bring  him  down  with  a well-aimed  shot.”  Of  course  I 
could  not  have  heard  such  strange  accounts  of  the 
merry  hunting  parties  at  R — sitten,  or  entertain  such  a 
true  heartfelt  affection  for  my  excellent  old  great-uncle 
as  I did,  without  being  highly  delighted  that  he  wanted 
to  take  me  with  him  this  time.  As  I was  already  pretty 
well  skilled  in  the  sort  of  business  he  had  to  transact, 
I promised  to  work  writh  unwearied  industry,  so  as  to 
relieve  him  of  all  care  and  trouble. 

Next  day  we  sat  in  the  carriage  on  our  way  to 
R— sitten,  well  wrapped  up  in  good  fur  coats,  driving 
through  a thick  snowstorm,  the  first  harbinger  of  the 
coming  winter.  On  the  journey  the  old  gentleman 
told  me  many  remarkable  stories  about  the  Freiherr 
Roderick,  who  had  established  the  estate-tail  and  ap- 
pointed him  (V ),  in  spite  of  his  youth,  to  be  his 

Justitiarius  and  executor.  He  spoke  of  the  harsh  and 
violent  character  of  the  old  nobleman,  which  seemed 
to  be  inherited  by  all  the  family,  since  even  the  present 
master  of  the  estate,  whom  he  had  known  as  a mild- 
tempered  and  almost  effeminate  youth,  acquired  more 


THE  ENTAIL. 


221 


and  more  as  the  years  went  by  the  same  disposition. 
He  therefore  recommended  me  strongly  to  behave 
with  as  much  resolute  self-reliance  and  as  little  em- 
barrassment as  possible,  if  I desired  to  possess  any 
consideration  in  the  Freiherr’s  eyes  ; and  at  length 
he  began  to  describe  the  apartments  in  the  castle 
which  he  had  selected  to  be  his  own  once  for  all, 
since  they  were  warm  and  comfortable,  and  so  con- 
veniently retired  that  we  could  withdraw  from  the 
noisy  convivialities  of  the  hilarious  company  whenever 
we  pleased.  The  rooms,  namely,  which  were  on  every 
visit  reserved  for  him,  were  two  small  ones,  hung  with 
warm  tapestry,  close  beside  the  large  hall  of  justice, 
in  the  wing  opposite  that  in  which  the  two  old  maids 
resided. 

At  last,  after  a rapid  but  wearying  journey,  we  ar- 
rived at  R — sitten,  late  at  night.  We  drove  through 
the  village  ; it  was  Sunday,  and  from  the  alehouse 
proceeded  the  sounds  of  music,  and  dancing,  and 
merrymaking  ; the  steward’s  house  was  lit  up  from 
basement  to  garret,  and  music  and  song  were  there 
too.  All  the  more  striking  therefore  was  the  inhos- 
pitable desolation  into  which  we  now  drove.  The  sea- 
wind  howled  in  sharp  cutting  dirges  as  it  were  about 
us,  whilst  the  sombre  firs,  as  if  they  had  been  roused  by 
the  wind  from  a deep  magic  trance,  groaned  hoarsely 
in  a responsive  chorus.  The  bare  black  walls  of  the 
castle  towered  above  the  snow-covered  ground  ; we 
drew  up  at  the  gates,  which  were  fast  locked.  But  no 
shouting  or  cracking  of  whips,  no  knocking  or  ham- 
mering, was  of  any  avail  ; the  whole  castle  seemed  to 
be  dead  ; not  a single  light  was  visible  at  any  of  the 
windows.  The  old  gentleman  shouted  in  his  strong 
stentorian  voice,  “Francis,  Francis,  where  the  deuce 
are  you  ? In  the  devil’s  name  rouse  yourself  ; we  are 


222 


THE  ENTAIL. 


all  freezing  here  outside  the  gates.  The  snow  is  cut- 
ting our  faces  till  they  bleed.  Why  the  devil  don’t 
you  stir  yourself  ? ” Then  the  watch-dog  began  to 
whine,  and  a wandering  light  was  visible  on  the  ground 
floor.  There  was  a rattling  of  keys,  and  soon  the  pon- 
derous wings  of  the  gate  creaked  back  on  their  hinges. 
“ Ha  ! a hearty  welcome,  a hearty  welcome,  Herr 
Justitiarius.  Ugh!  it's  rough  weather!”  cried  old 
Francis,  holding  the  lantern  above  his  head,  so  that 
the  light  fell  full  upon  his  withered  face,  which  was 
drawn  up  into  a curious  grimace,  that  was  meant  for  a 
friendly  smile.  The  carriage  drove  into  the  court,  and 
we  got  out  ; then  I obtained  a full  view  of  the  old 
servant's  extraordinary  figure,  almost  hidden  in  his 
wide  old-fashioned  chasseur  livery,  with  its  many  extra- 
ordinary lace  decorations.  Whilst  there  were  only  a 
few  grey  locks  on  his  broad  white  forehead,  the  lower 
part  of  his  face  wore  the  ruddy  hue  of  health  ; and, 
notwithstanding  that  the  cramped  muscles  of  his  face 
gave  it  something  of  the  appearance  of  a whimsical 
mask,  yet  the  rather  stupid  good-nature  which  beamed 
from  his  eyes  and  played  about  his  mouth  compensated 
for  all  the  rest. 

“Now,  old  Francis,”  began  my  great-uncle,  knock- 
ing the  snow  from  his  fur  coat  in  the  entrance  hall, 
“ now,  old  man,  is  everything  prepared  ? Have  you 
had  the  hangings  in  my  room  well  dusted,  and  the 
beds  carried  in  ? and  have  you  had  a big  roaring  fire 
both  yesterday  and  to-day?”  “ No,”  replied  Francis, 
quite  calmly,  “ no,  my  worshipful  Herr  Justitiarius, 
we’ve  got  none  of  that  done.”  “Good  Heavens!” 
burst  out  my  great-uncle,  “ I wrote  to  you  in  proper 
time  ; you  know  that  I always  come  at  the  time  I fix. 
Here’s  a fine  piece  of  stupid  carelessness ! I shall  have 
to  sleep  in  rooms  as  cold  as  ice.”  “ But  you  see,  wor- 


THE  ENTAIL. 


223 


shipful  Herr  Justitiarius,”  continued  Francis,  most 
carefuliy  clipping  a burning  thief  from  the  wick  of  the 
candle  with  the  snuffers  and  stamping  it  out  with  his 
foot,  “ but,  you  see,  sir,  all  that  would  not  have  been  of 
much  good,  especially  the  fires,  for  the  wind  and  the 
snow  have  taken  up  their  quarters  too  much  in  the 
rooms,  driving  in  through  the  broken  windows,  and 

then  ” “ What  ! ” cried  my  uncle,  interrupting  him 

as  he  spread  out  his  fur  coat  and  placing  his  arms 
akimbo,  “ do  you  mean  to  tell  me  the  windows  are 
broken,  and  you,  the  castellan  of  the  house,  have  done 
nothing  to  get  them  mended  ? ” “ But,  worshipful 

Herr  Justitiarius,”  resumed  the  old  servant  calmly  and 
composedly,  “but  we  can’t  very  well  get  at  them  owing 
to  the  great  masses  of  stones  and  rubbish  lying  all  over 
the  room.”  “ Damn  it  all,  how  come  there  to  be  stones 
and  rubbish  in  my  room  ?”  cried  my  uncle.  “Your 
lasting  health  and  good  luck,  young  gentleman  ! ” said 
the  old  man,  bowing  politely  to  me,  as  I happened  to 
sneeze  ; 1 but  he  immediately  added,  “ They  are  the 
stones  and  plaster  of  the  partition  wall  which  fell  in  at 
the  great  shock.”  “ Have  you  had  an  earthquake  ? ” 
blazed  up  my  uncle,  now  fairly  in  a rage.  “ No,  not  an 
earthquake,  worshipful  Herr  Justitiarius,”  replied  the 
old  man,  grinning  all  over  his  face,  “ but  three  days 
ago  the  heavy  wainscot  ceiling  of  the  justice-hall  fell 

in  with  a tremendous  crash.”  “Then  may  the” 

My  uncle  was  about  to  rip  out  a terrific  oath  in  his 
violent  passionate  manner,  but  jerking  up  his  right 
arm  above  his  head  and  taking  off  his  fox-skin  cap  with 
his  left,  he  suddenly  checked  himself  ; and  turning  to 
me,  he  said  with  a hearty  laugh,  “ By  my  troth,  cousin, 

1 At  the  present  time  the  Germans  say  Prosit  ! under  like  circum- 
stances. This  of  course  reminds  one  of  the  Greek  custom  of  regarding 
sneezing  as  an  auspicious  omen. 


224 


THE  ENTAIL. 


we  must  hold  our  tongues  ; we  mustn’t  ask  any  more 
questions,  or  else  we  shall  hear  of  some  still  worse  mis- 
fortune, or  have  the  whole  castle  tumbling  to  pieces 
about  our  ears.”  “ But,”  he  continued,  wheeling  round 
again  to  the  old  servant,  “but,  bless  me,  Francis,  could 
you  not  have  had  the  common  sense  to  get  me  another 
room  cleaned  and  warmed  ? Could  you  not  have 
quickly  fitted  up  a room  in  the  main  building  fcr  the 
court-day  ? ” “ All  that  has  been  already  done,”  said 

the  old  man,  pointing  to  the  staircase  with  a gesture 
that  invited  us  to  follow  him,  and  at  once  beginning  to 
ascend  them.  “ Now  there’s  a most  curious  noodle  for 
you  ! ” exclaimed  my  uncle  as  we  followed  old  Francis. 

The  way  led  through  long  lofty  vaulted  corridors,  in 
the  dense  darkness  of  which  Francis’s  flickering  light 
threw  a strange  reflection.  The  pillars,  capitals,  and 
vari-coloured  arches  seemed  as  if  they  were  floating 
before  us  in  the  air  ; our  own  shadows  stalked  along 
beside  us  in  gigantic  shape,  and  the  grotesque  paint- 
ings on  the  wails  over  which  they  glided  seemed  all  of 
a tremble  and  shake  ; whilst  their  voices,  we  could 
imagine,  were  whispering  in  the  sound  of  our  echoing 
footsteps,  “Wake  us  not,  oh!  wake  us  not — us  whim- 
sical spirits  who  sleep  here  in  these  old  stones.”  At 
last,  after  we  had  traversed  a long  suite  of  cold  and 
gloomy  apartments,  Francis  opened  the  door  of  a hall 
in  which  a fire  blazing  brightly  in  the  grate  offered 
us  as  it  were  a home-like  welcome  with  its  pleasant 
crackling.  I felt  quite  comfortable  the  moment  I 
entered,  but  my  uncle,  standing  still  in  the  middle  of 
the  hall,  looked  round  him  and  said  in  a tone  which 
was  so  very  grave  as  to  be  almost  solemn,  “ And  so 
this  is  to  be  the  justice-hall ! ” Francis  held  his  candle 
above  his  head,  so  that  my  eye  fell  upon  a light  spot 
in  the  wide  dark  wall  about  the  size  of  a door  ; then 


THE  ENTAIL. 


225 


he  said  in  a pained  and  muffled  voice,  “Justice  has 
been  already  dealt  out  here.”  “What  possesses  you, 
old  man  ? ” asked  my  uncle,  quickly  throwing  aside 
his  fur  coat  and  drawing  near  to  the  fire.  “ It  slipped 
over  my  lips,  I couldn’t  help  it,”  said  Francis  ; then 
he  lit  the  great  candies  and  opened  the  door  of  the 
adjoining  room,  which  was  very  snugly  fitted  up  for 
our  reception.  In  a short  time  a table  was  spread  for 
us  before  the  fire,  and  the  old  man  served  us  with 
several  well-dressed  dishes,  which  were  followed  by  a 
brimming  bowl  of  punch,  prepared  in  true  Northern 
style, — a very  acceptable  sight  to  two  weary  travellers 
like  my  uncle  and  myself.  My  uncle  then,  tired  with 
his  journey,  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  he  had  finished 
supper  ; but  my  spirits  were  too  much  excited  by  the 
novelty  and  strangeness  of  the  place,  as  well  as  by  the 
punch,  for  me  to  think  of  sleep.  Meanwhile,  Francis 
cleared  the  table,  stirred  up  the  fire,  and  bowing  and 
scraping  politely,  left  me  to  myself. 

Now  I sat  alone  in  the  lofty  spacious  Rittersaal  or 
Knight’s  Hall.  The  snow-flakes  had  ceased  to  beat 
against  the  lattice,  and  the  storm  had  ceased  to 
whistle  ; the  sky  was  clear,  and  the  bright  full  moon 
shone  in  through  the  wide  oriel-windows,  illuminating 
with  magical  effect  all  the  dark  corners  of  the  curious 
room  into  which  the  dim  light  of  my  candles  and  the 
fire  could  not  penetrate.  As  one  often  finds  in  old 
castles,  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  the  hall  were  orna- 
mented in  a peculiar  antique  fashion,  the  former  with 
fantastic  paintings  and  carvings,  gilded  and  coloured 
in  gorgeous  tints,  the  latter  with  heavy  wainscoting. 
Standing  out  conspicuously  from  the  great  pictures, 
which  represented  for  the  most  part  wild  bloody  scenes 
in  bear-hunts  and  wolf-hunts,  were  the  heads  of  men 
and  animals  carved  in  wood  and  joined  on  to  the 


22Ö 


THE  ENTAIL. 


painted  bodies,  so  that  the  whole,  especially  in  the 
flickering  light  of  the  fire  and  the  soft  beams  of  the 
moon,  had  an  effect  as  if  all  were  alive  and  instinct 
with  terrible  reality.  Between  these  pictures  reliefs  of 
knights  had  been  inserted,  of  life  size,  walking  along 
in  hunting  costume  ; probably  they  were  the  ancestors 
of  the  family  who  had  delighted  in  the  chase.  Every- 
thing, both  in  the  paintings  and  in  the  carved  work, 
bore  the  dingy  hue  of  extreme  old  age  ; so  much  the 
more  conspicuous  therefore  was  the  bright  bare  place 
on  that  one  of  the  walls  through  which  were  two  doors 
leading  into  adjoining  apartments.  I soon  concluded 
that  there  too  there  must  have  been  a door,  that  had 
been  bricked  up  later ; and  hence  it  was  that  this  new 
part  of  the  wall,  which  had  neither  been  painted  like 
the  rest,  nor  yet  ornamented  with  carvings,  formed 
such  a striking  contrast  with  the  others.  Who  does 
not  know  with  what  mysterious  power  the  mind  is 
enthralled  in  the  midst  of  unusual  and  singularly 
strange  circumstances  ? Even  the  dullest  imagination 
is  aroused  when  it  comes  into  a valley  girt  around  by 
fantastic  rocks,  or  within  the  gloomy  walls  of  a church 
or  an  abbey,  and  it  begins  to  have  glimpses  of  things  it 
has  never  yet  experienced.  When  I add  that  I was 
twenty  years  of  age,  and  had  drunk  several  glasses  of 
strong  punch,  it  will  easily  be  conceived  that  as  I sat 
thus  in  the  Rittersaal  I was  in  a more  exceptional 
frame  of  mind  than  I had  ever  been  before.  Let  the 
reader  picture  to  himself  the  stillness  of  the  night 
within,  and  without  the  rumbling  roar  of  the  sea — the 
peculiar  piping  of  the  wind,  which  rang  upon  my  ears 
like  the  tones  of  a mighty  organ  played  upon  by 
spectral  hands — the  passing  scudding  clouds  which, 
shining  bright  and  white,  often  seemed  to  peep  in 
through  the  rattling  oriel-windows  like  giants  sailing 


THE  ENTAIL. 


227 


past — in  very  truth,  I felt,  from  the  slight  shudder 
which  shook  me,  that  possibly  a new  sphere  of  ex- 
istences might  now  be  revealed  to  me  visibly  and 
perceptibly.  But  this  feeling  was  like  the  shivery 
sensations  that  one  has  on  hearing  a graphically  nar- 
rated ghost  story,  such  as  we  all  like.  At  this  moment 
it  occurred  to  me  that  I should  never  be  in  a more 
seasonable  mood  for  reading  the  book  which,  in  com- 
mon with  every  one  who  had  the  least  leaning  towards 
the  romantic,  I at  that  time  carried  about  in  my 
pocket, — I mean  Schiller’s  “Ghost-seer.”  I read  and 
read,  and  my  imagination  grew  ever  more  and  more 
excited.  I came  to  the  marvellously  enthralling  de- 
scription of  the  wedding  feast  at  Count  Von  V -’s. 

Just  as  I was  reading  of  the  entrance  of  Jeronimo’s 
bloody  figure,1  the  door  leading  from  the  gallery  into 
the  antechamber  flew  open  with  a tremendous  bang. 
I started  to  my  feet  in  terror  ; the  book  fell  from  my 
hands.  In  the  very  same  moment,  however,  all  was 
still  again,  and  I began  to  be  ashamed  of  my  childish 
fears.  The  door  must  have  been  burst  open  by  a 
strong  gust  of  wind  or  in  some  other  natural  manner. 
It  is  nothing  ; my  over-strained  fancy  converts  every 
ordinary  occurrence  into  the  supernatural.  Having 
thus  calmed  my  fears,  I picked  up  my  boo,k  from  the 
ground,  and  again  threw  myself  in  the  arm-chair  ; but 
there  came  a sound  of  soft,  slow,  measured  footsteps 
moving  diagonally  across  the  hall,  whilst  there  was  a 
sighing  and  moaning  at  intervals,  and  in  this  sighing 

1 This  refers  to  an  episode  in  Schiller’s  work,  related  by  a Sicilian. 
The  story  is  of  a familiar  type.  Two  brothers,  Jeronymo  and  Lorenzo, 
fall  in  love  with  the  same  Lady  Antonia  ; the  elder  brother  is  secretly 
killed  by  the  younger.  But  on  the  marriage  day  of  the  murderer  the 
murdered  man  appears  in  the  disguise  of  a monk,  and  proceeds  to 
reveal  himself  in  his  bloody  habiliments  and  show  his  ghastly  wounds. 


228 


THE  ENTAIL. 


and  moaning  there  was  expressed  the  deepest  trouble, 
the  most  hopeless  grief,  that  a human  being  can  know. 
“ Ha ! it  must  be  some  sick  animal  locked  up  some- 
where in  the  basement  storey.  Such  acoustic  decep- 
tions at  night  time,  making  distant  sounds  appear  close 
at  hand,  are  well  known  to  everybody.  Who  will 
suffer  himself  to  be  terrified  at  such  a thing  as  that?” 
Thus  I calmed  my  fears  again.  But  now  there  was  a 
scratching  at  the  new  portion  of  the  wall,  whilst  louder 
and  deeper  sighs  were  audible,  as  if  gasped  out  by 
some  one  in  the  last  throes  of  mortal  anguish.  “Yes, 
yes  ; it  is  some  poor  animal  locked  up  somewhere ; I 
will  shout  as  loudly  as  I can,  I will  stamp  violently  on 
the  floor,  then  all  will  be  still,  or  else  the  animal 
below  will  make  itself  heard  more  distinctly,  and  in 
its  natural  cries,”  I thought.  But  the  blood  ran  cold 
in  my  veins ; the  cold  sweat,  too,  stood  upon  my 
forehead,  and  I remained  sitting  in  my  chair  as  if 
transfixed,  quite  unable  to  rise,  still  less  to  cry  out. 
At  length  the  abominable  scratching  ceased,  and  I 
again  heard  the  footsteps.  Life  and  motion  seemed 
to  be  awakened  in  me  ; I leapt  to  my  feet,  and  went 
two  or  three  steps  forward.  But  then  there  came  an 
ice-cold  draught  of  wind  through  the  hall,  whilst  at  the 
same  moment  the  moon  cast  her  bright  light  upon  the 
statue  of  a grave  if  not  almost  terrible-looking  man  ; 
and  then,  as  though  his  warning  voice  rang  through 
the  louder  thunders  of  the  waves  and  the  shriller 
piping  of  the  wind,  I heard  distinctly,  “No  further, 
no  further  ! or  you  will  sink  beneath  all  the  fearful 
horrors  of  the  world  of  spectres.”  Then  the  door  was 
slammed  too  with  the  same  violent  bang  as  before,  and 
I plainly  heard  the  footsteps  in  the  anteroom,  then 
going  down  the  stairs.  The  main  door  of  the  castle 
was  opened  with  a creaking  noise,  and  afterwards 


THE  ENTAIL. 


229 


closed  again.  Then  it  seemed  as  if  a horse  were 
brought  out  of  the  stable,  and  after  a while  taken  back 
again,  and  finally  all  was  still. 

At  that  same  moment  my  attention  was  attracted  to 
my  old  uncle  in  the  adjoining  room  ; he  was  groaning 
and  moaning  painfully.  This  brought  me  fully  to  con- 
sciousness again  ; I seized  the  candles  and  hurried  into 
the  room  to  him.  He  appeared  to  be  struggling  with 
an  ugly,  unpleasant  dream.  “ Wake  up,  wake  up  ! ” I 
cried  loudly,  taking  him  gently  by  the  hand,  and  letting 
the  full  glare  of  the  light  fall  upon  his  face.  He  start- 
ed up  with  a stifled  shout,  and  then,  looking  kindly  at 
me,  said,  “Ay,  you  have  done  quite  right — that  you 
have,  cousin,  to  wake  me.  I have  had  a very  ugly 
dream,  and  it’s  all  solely  owing  to  this  room  and  that 
hall,  for  they  made  me  think  of  past  times  and  many 
wonderful  things  that  have  happened  here.  But  now 
let  us  turn  to  and  have  a good  sound  sleep.”  There- 
with the  old  gentleman  rolled  himself  in  the  bed-cover- 
ing and  appeared  to  fall  asleep  at  once.  But  when  I 
had  extinguished  the  candles  and  likewise  crept  into 
bed,  I heard  him  praying  in  a low  tone  to  himself. 

Next  morning  we  began  work  in  earnest  ; the  land- 
steward  brought  his  account-books,  and  various  other 
people  came,  some  to  get  a dispute  settled,  some  to  get 
arrangements  made  about  other  matters.  At  noon  my 
uncle  took  me  with  him  to  the  wing  where  the  two  old 
Baronesses  lived,  that  we  might  pay  our  respects  to 
them  with  all  due  form.  Francis  having  announced  us, 
we  had  to  wait  some  time  before  a little  old  dame,  bent 
with  the  weight  of  her  sixty  years,  and  attired  in  gay- 
coloured  silks,  who  styled  herself  the  noble  ladies’  lady- 
in-waiting,  appeared  and  led  us  into  the  sanctuary. 
There  we  were  received  with  comical  ceremony  by  the 
old  ladies,  whose  curious  style  of  dress  had  gone  out  of 


230 


THE  ENTAIL. 


fashion  years  and  years  before.  I especially  was  an  ob- 
ject of  astonishment  to  them  when  my  uncle,  wTith  con- 
siderable humour,  introduced  me  as  a young  lawyer  who 
had  come  to  assist  him  in  his  business.  Their  counte- 
nances plainly  indicated  their  belief  that,  owing  to 
my  youth,  the  welfare  of  the  tenants  of  R — sitten  was 
placed  in  jeopardy.  Although  there  was  a good  deal 
that  was  truly  ridiculous  during  the  whole  of  this  inter- 
view with  the  old  ladies,  I was  nevertheless  still  shiver- 
ing from  the  terror  of  the  preceding  night ; I felt  as  if 
I had  come  in  contact  with  an  unknown  power,  or  rather 
as  if  I had  grazed  against  the  outer  edge  of  a circle,  one 
step  across  which  would  be  enough  to  plunge  me  irre- 
trievably into  destruction,  as  though  it  were  only  by  the 
exertion  of  all  the  power  of  my  will  that  I should  be 
able  to  guard  myself  against  that  awful  dread  which 
never  slackens  its  hold  upon  you  until  it  ends  in  incu- 
rable insanity.  Hence  it  was  that  the  old  Baronesses, 
with  their  remarkable  towering  head-dresses,  and  their 
peculiar  stuff  gowns,  tricked  off  with  gay  flowers  and 
ribbons,  instead  of  striking  me  as  merely  ridiculous,  had 
an  appearance  that  wras  both  ghostly  and  awe-inspiring. 
My  fancy  seemed  to  glean  from  their  yellow  withered 
faces  and  blinking  eyes,  ocular  proof  of  the  fact  that 
they  had  succeeded  in  establishing  themselves  on  at 
least  a good  footing  with  the  ghosts  who  haunted  the 
castle,  as  it  derived  auricular  confirmation  of  the  same 
fact  from  the  wretched  French  which  they  croaked, 
partly  between  their  tightly-closed  blue  lips  and  partly 
through  their  long  thin  noses,  and  also  that  they  them- 
selves possessed  the  powTer  of  setting  trouble  and  dire 
mischief  at  work.  My  uncle,  who  always  had  a keen 
eye  for  a bit  of  fun,  entangled  the  old  dames  in  his 
ironical  way  in  such  a mish-mash  of  nonsensical  rubbish 
that,  had  I been  in  any  other  mood,  I should  not  have 


THE  ENTAIL. 


231 


known  how  to  swallow  down  my  immoderate  laughter  ; 
but,  as  I have  just  said,  the  Baronesses  and  their  twad- 
dle were,  and  continued  to  be,  in  my  regard,  ghostly, 
so  that  my  old  uncle,  who  was  aiming  at  affording  me 
an  especial  diversion,  glanced  across  at  me  time  after 
time  utterly  astonished.  So  after  dinner,  when  we  were 
alone  together  in  our  room,  he  burst  out,  “ But  in 
Heaven’s  name,  cousin,  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ? You  don’t  laugh  ; you  don’t  talk  ; you  don’t  eat  ; 
and  you  don’t  drink.  Are  you  ill,  or  is  anything  else 
the  matter  with  you  ? ” I now  hesitated  not  a moment 
to  tell  him  circumstantially  all  my  terrible,  awful  experi- 
ences of  the  previous  night.  I did  not  conceal  anything, 
and  above  all  I did  not  conceal  that  I had  drunk  a good 
deal  of  punch,  and  had  been  reading  Schiller’s  “ Ghost- 
seer.”  “ This  I must  confess  to,”  I add,  “ for  only  so 
can  I credibly  explain  how  it  was  that  my  over-strained 
and  active  imagination  could  create  all  those  ghostly 
spirits,  which  only  exist  within  the  sphere  of  my  own 
brain.”  I fully  expected  that  my  uncle  would  now  pep- 
per me  well  with  the  stinging  pellets  of  his  wit  for  this 
my  fanciful  ghost-seeing  ; but,  on  the  contrary,  he  grew 
very  grave,  and  his  eyes  became  riveted  in  a set  stare 
upon  the  floor,  until  he  jerked  up  his  head  and  said,  fix- 
ing me  with  his  keen  fiery  eyes,  “ Your  book  I am  not 
acquainted  with,  cousin  ; but  your  ghostly  visitants 
were  due  neither  to  it  nor  to  the  fumes  of  the  punch. 
I must  tell  you  that  I dreamt  exactly  the  same  things 
that  you  saw  and  heard.  Like  you,  I sat  in  the  easy- 
chair  beside  the  fire  (at  least  I dreamt  so)  ; but  what  was 
only  revealed  to  you  as  slight  noises  I saw  and  distinctly 
comprehended  with  the  eye  of  my  mind.  Yes,  I beheld 
that  foul  fiend  come  in,  stealthily  and  feebly  step  across 
to  the  bricked-up  door,  and  scratch  at  the  wall  in  hope- 
less despair  until  the  blood  gushed  out  from  beneath 


232 


THE  ENTAIL. 


his  torn  finger-nails  ; then  he  went  downstairs,  took  a 
horse  out  of  the  stable,  and  finally  put  him  back  again. 
Did  you  also  hear  the  cock  crowing  in  a distant  farm- 
yard up  at  the  village  ? You  came  and  awoke  me,  and 
I soon  resisted  the  baneful  ghost  of  that  terrible  man, 
who  is  still  able  to  disturb  in  this  fearful  way  the  quiet 
lives  of  the  living.”  The  old  gentleman  stopped  ; and  I 
did  not  like  to  ask  him  further  questions,  being  well 
aware  that  he  would  explain  everything  to  me  when  he 
deemed  that  the  proper  time  was  come  for  doing  so. 
After  sitting  for  a while,  deeply  absorbed  in  his  own 
thoughts,  he  went  on,  “ Cousin,  do  you  think  you  have 
courage  enough  to  encounter  the  ghost  again  now  that 
you  know  all  that  happens, — that  is  to  say,  along  with 
me  ?”  Of  course  I declared  that  I now  felt  quite  strong 
enough,  and  ready  for  what  he  wished.  “ Then  let  us 
watch  together  during  the  coming  night,”  the  old  gen- 
tleman went  on  to  say.  “ There  is  a voice  within  me 
telling  me  that  this  evil  spirit  must  fly,  not  so  much  be- 
fore the  power  of  my  will  as  before  my  courage,  which 
rests  upon  a basis  of  firm  conviction.  I feel  that  it  is 
not  at  all  presumption  in  me,  but  rather  a good  and 
pious  deed,  if  I venture  life  and  limb  to  exorcise  this 
foul  fiend  that  is  banishing  the  sons  from  the  old  castle 
of  their  ancestors.  But  what  am  I thinking  about  ? 
There  can  be  no  risk  in  the  case  at  all,  for  with  such  a 
firm,  honest  mind  and  pious  trust  that  I feel  I possess, 
I and  everybody  cannot  fail  to  be,  now  and  always,  vic- 
torious over  such  ghostly  antagonists.  And  yet  if,  after 
all,  it  should  be  God’s  will  that  this  evil  power  be  en- 
abled to  work  me  mischief,  then  you  must  bear  witness, 
cousin,  that  I fell  in  honest  Christian  fight  against  the 
spirit  of  hell  which  was  here  busy  about  its  fiendish 
work.  As  for  yourself,  keep  at  a distance  ; no  harm 
will  happen  to  you  then.” 


THE  ENTAIL. 


233 


Our  attention  was  busily  engaged  with  divers  kinds 
of  business  until  evening  came.  As  on  the  day  before, 
Francis  had  cleared  away  the  remains  of  the  supper, 
and  brought  us  our  punch.  The  full  moon  shone 
brightly  through  the  gleaming  clouds,  the  sea-waves 
roared,  and  the  night-wind  howled  and  shook  the  oriel 
window  till  the  panes  rattled.  Although  inwardly 
excited,  we  forced  ourselves  to  converse  on  indifferent 
topics.  The  old  gentleman  had  placed  his  striking 
watch  on  the  table  ; it  struck  twelve.  Then  the  door 
flew  open  with  a terrific  bang,  and,  just  as  on  the  pre- 
ceding night,  soft  slow  footsteps  moved  stealthily  across 
the  hall  in  a diagonal  direction,  whilst  there  were  the 
same  sounds  of  sighing  and  moaning.  My  uncle  turned 
pale,  but  his  eyes  shone  with  an  unusual  brilliance. 
He  rose  from  his  arm-chair,  stretching  his  tall  figure  up 
to  its  full  height,  so  that  as  he  stood  there  with  his 
left  arm  propped  against  his  side  and  with  his  right 
stretched  out  towards  the  middle  of  the  hall,  he  had  the 
appearance  of  a hero  issuing  his  commands.  But  the 
sighing  and  moaning  were  growing  every  moment 
louder  and  more  perceptible,  and  then  the  scratching 
at  the  wall  began  more  horribly  even  than  on  the  pre- 
vious night.  My  uncle  strode  forwards  straight  towards 
the  walled-up  door,  and  his  steps  were  so  firm  that  they 
echoed  along  the  floor.  He  stopped  immediately  in 
front  of  the  place,  where  the  scratching  noise  continued 
to  grow  worse  and  worse,  and  said  in  a strong  solemn 
voice,  such  as  I had  never  before  heard  from  his  lips, 
“ Daniel,  Daniel ! what  are  you  doing  here  at  this 
hour  ? ” Then  there  was  a horrible  unearthly  scream, 
followed  by  a dull  thud  as  if  a heavy  weight  had  fallen 
to  the  ground.  “Seek  for  pardon  and  mercy  at  the 
throne  of  the  Almighty  ; that  is  your  place.  Away  with 
you  from  the  scenes  of  this  life,  in  which  you  can  never- 


234 


THE  ENTAIL. 


more  have  part.”  And  as  the  old  gentleman  uttered 
these  words  in  a tone  still  stronger  than  before,  a feeble 
wail  seemed  to  pass  through  the  air  and  die  away  in 
the  blustering  of  the  storm,  which  was  just  beginning 
to  rage.  Crossing  over  to  the  door,  the  old  gentleman 
slammed  it  to,  so  that  the  echo  rang  loudly  through 
the  empty  anteroom.  There  was  something  so  super- 
natural almost  in  both  his  language  and  his  gestures 
that  I was  deeply  struck  with  awe.  On  resuming  his 
seat  in  his  arm-chair  his  face  was  as  if  transfigured  ; 
he  folded  his  hands  and  prayed  inwardly.  In  this  way 
several  minutes  passed,  when  he  asked  me  in  that 
gentle  tone  which  always  went  right  to  my  heart,  and 
which  he  always  had  so  completely  at  his  command, 
“Well,  cousin  ?”  Agitated  and  shaken  by  awe,  terror, 
fear,  and  pious  respect  and  love,  I threw  myself  upon 
my  knees  and  rained  down  my  warm  tears  upon  the 
hand  he  offered  me.  He  clasped  me  in  his  arms,  and 
pressing  me  fervently  to  his  heart  said  very  tenderly, 
“ Now  we  will  go  and  have  a good  quiet  sleep,  good 
cousin  and  we  did  so.  And  as  nothing  of  an  unusual 
nature  occurred  on  the  following  night,  we  soon  recov- 
ered our  former  cheerfulness,  to  the  prejudice  of  the 
old  Baronesses  ; for  though  there  did  still  continue  to 
be  something  ghostly  about  them  and  their  odd  man- 
ners, yet  it  emanated  from  a diverting  ghost  which  the 
old  gentleman  knew  how  to  call  up  in  a droll  fashion. 

At  length,  after  the  lapse  of  several  days,  the  Baron 
put  in  his  appearance,  along  with  his  wife  and  a 
numerous  train  of  servants  for  the  hunting  ; the  guests 
who  had  been  invited  also  arrived,  and  the  castle,  now 
suddenly  awakened  to  animation,  became  the  scene  of 
the  noisy  life  and  revelry  which  have  been  before  de- 
scribed. When  the  Baron  came  into  our  hall  soon  after 
his  arrival,  he  seemed  to  be  disagreeably  surprised  at 


THE  ENTAIL. 


235 


the  change  in  our  quarters.  Casting  an  ill-tempered 
glance  towards  the  bricked-up  door,  he  turned  abruptly 
round  and  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  as  if 
desirous  of  banishing  some  disagreeable  recollection. 
My  great-uncle  mentioned  the  damage  done  to  the 
justice-hall  and  the  adjoining  apartments  ; but  the 
Baron  found  fault  with  Francis  for  not  accommodating 
us  with  better  lodgings,  and  he  good-naturedly  re- 
quested the  old  gentleman  to  order  anything  he  might 
want  to  make  his  new  room  comfortable  ; for  it  was 
much  less  satisfactory  in  this  respect  than  that  which 
he  had  usually  occupied.  On  the  whole,  the  Baron’s 
bearing  towards  my  old  uncle  was  not  merely  cordial, 
but  largely  coloured  by  a certain  deferential  respect,  as 
if  the  relation  in  which  he  stood  towards  him  was  that 
of  a younger  relative.  But  this  was  the  sole  trait  that 
could  in  any  way  reconcile  me  to  his  harsh,  imperious 
character,  which  was  now  developed  more  and  more 
every  day.  As  for  me,  he  seemed  to  notice  me  but 
little  ; if  he  did  notice  me  at  all,  he  saw  in  me  nothing 
more  than  the  usual  secretary  or  clerk.  On  the  occa- 
sion of  the  very  first  important  memorandum  that  I 
drew  up,  he  began  to  point  out  mistakes,  as  he  con- 
ceived, in  the  wording.  My  blood  boiled,  and  I was 
about  to  make  a caustic  reply,  when  my  uncle  inter- 
posed, informing  him  briefly  that  I did  my  work  exactly 
in  the  way  he  wished,  and  that  in  legal  matters  of  this 
kind  he  alone  was  responsible.  When  we  were  left 
alone,  I complained  bitterly  of  the  Baron,  who  would,  I 
said,  always  inspire  me  with  growing  aversion.  “ I 
assure  you,  cousin,”  replied  the  old  gentleman,  “that 
the  Baron,  notwithstanding  his  unpleasant  manner,  is 
really  one  of  the  most  excellent  and  kind-hearted  men 
in  the  world.  As  I have  already  told  you,  he  did  not 
assume  these  manners  until  the  time  he  became  lord  of 


236 


THE  ENTAIL. 


the  entail  ; previous  to  then  he  was  a modest,  gentle 
youth.  Besides,  he  is  not,  after  all,  so  bad  as  you  make 
him  out  to  be  ; and  further,  I should  like  to  know  why 
you  are  so  averse  to  him.”  As  my  uncle  said  these 
words  he  smiled  mockingly,  and  the  blood  rushed  hotly 
and  furiously  into  my  face.  I could  not  pretend  to  hide 
from  myself — I saw  it  only  too  clearly,  and  felt  it  too 
unmistakably — that  my  peculiar  antipathy  to  the  Baron 
sprang  out  of  the  fact  that  I loved,  even  to  madness,  a 
being  who  appeared  to  me  to  be  the  loveliest  and  most 
fascinating  of  her  sex  who  had  ever  trod  the  earth. 
This  lady  was  none  other  than  the  Baroness  herself. 
Her  appearance  exercised  a powerful  and  irresistible 
charm  upon  me  at  the  very  moment  of  her  arrival, 
when  I saw  her  traversing  the  apartments  in  her 
Russian  sable  cloak,  which  fitted  close  to  the  exquisite 
symmetry  of  her  shape,  and  with  a rich  veil  wrapped 
about  her  head.  Moreover,  the  circumstance  that  the 
two  old  aunts,  with  still  more  extraordinary  gowns  and 
be-ribboned  head-dresses  than  I had  yet  seen  them 
wear,  were  sweeping  along  one  on  each  side  of  her  and 
cackling  their  welcomes  in  French,  whilst  the  Baroness 
was  looking  about  her  in  a way  so  gentle  as  to  baffle  all 
description,  nodding  graciously  first  to  one  and  then  to 
another,  and  then  adding  in  her  flute-like  voice  a few 
German  words  in  the  pure  sonorous  dialect  of  Cour- 
land — all  this  formed  a truly  remarkable  and  unusual 
picture,  and  my  imagination  involuntarily  connected  it 
with  the  ghostly  midnight  visitant, — the  Baroness  being 
the  angel  of  light  who  was  to  break  the  ban  of  the 
spectral  powers  of  evil.  This  wondrously  lovely  lady 
stood  forth  in  startling  reality  before  my  mind’s  eye. 
At  that  time  she  could  hardly  be  nineteen  years  of  age, 
and  her  face,  as  delicately  beautiful  as  her  form,  bore 
the  impression  of  the  most  angelic  good-nature  ; but 


THE  ENTAIL. 


237 


what  I especially  noticed  was  the  indescribable  fascina- 
tion of  her  dark  eyes,  for  a soft  melancholy  gleam  of 
aspiration  shone  in  them  like  dewy  moonshine,  whilst 
a perfect  elysium  of  rapture  and  delight  was  revealed 
in  her  sweet  and  beautiful  smile.  She  often  seemed 
completely  lost  in  her  own  thoughts,  and  at  such  mo- 
ments her  lovely  face  was  swept  by  dark  and  fleeting 
shadows.  Many  observers  would  have  concluded  that 
she  was  affected  by  some  distressing  pain  ; but  it  rather 
seemed  to  me  that  she  was  struggling  with  gloomy  ap- 
prehensions of  a future  pregnant  with  dark  misfort- 
unes ; and  with  these,  strangely  enough,  I connected 
the  apparition  of  the  castle,  though  I could  not  give  the 
least  explanation  of  why  I did  so. 

On  the  morning  following  the  Baron’s  arrival,  when 
the  company  assembled  to  breakfast,  my  old  uncle  in- 
troduced me  to  the  Baroness  ; and,  as  usually  happens 
with  people  in  the  frame  of  mind  in  which  I then  was, 
I behaved  with  indescribable  absurdity.  In  answer  to 
the  beautiful  lady’s  simple  inquiries  how  I liked  the 
castle,  &c.,  I entangled  myself  in  the  most  extraordinary 
and  nonsensical  phrases,  so  that  the  old  aunts  ascribed 
my  embarrassment  simply  and  solely  to  my  profound 
respect  for  the  noble  lady,  and  thought  they  were  called 
upon  condescendingly  to  take  my  part,  which  they  did 
by  praising  me  in  French  as  a very  nice  and  clever 
young  man,  as  a garfon  trcs  joli  (handsome  lad).  This 
vexed  me  ; so  suddenly  recovering  my  self-possession, 
I threw  out  a bonmot  in  better  French  than  the  old 
dames  were  mistresses  of ; whereupon  they  opened 
their  eyes  wide  in  astonishment,  and  pampered  their 
long  thin  noses  with  a liberal  supply  of  snuff.  From 
the  Baroness’s  turning  from  me  with  a more  serious  air 
to  talk  to  some  other  lady,  I perceived  that  my  bomnot 
bordered  closely  upon  folly  ; this  vexed  me  still  more, 


238 


THE  ENTAIL. 


and  I wished  the  two  old  ladies  to  the  devil.  My  old 
uncle’s  irony  had  long  before  brought  me  through  the 
stage  of  the  languishing  love-sick  swain,  who  in  childish 
infatuation  coddles  his  love-troubles  ; but  I knew  very 
well  that  the  Baroness  had  made  a deeper  and  more 
powerful  impression  upon  my  heart  than  any  other 
woman  had  hitherto  done.  I saw  and  heard  nothing 
but  her  ; nevertheless  I had  a most  explicit  and  un- 
equivocal consciousness  that  it  would  be  not  only 
absurd,  but  even  utter  madness  to  dream  of  an  amour, 
albeit  I perceived  no  less  clearly  the  impossibility  of 
gazing  and  adoring  at  a distance  like  a love-lorn  boy. 
Of  such  conduct  I should  have  been  perfectly  ashamed. 
But  what  I could  do,  and  what  I resolved  to  do,  was  to 
become  more  intimate  with  this  beautiful  girl  without 
allowing  her  to  get  any  glimpse  of  my  real  feelings,  to 
drink  the  sweet  poison  of  her  looks  and  words,  and  then, 
when  far  away  from  her,  to  bear  her  image  in  my  heart 
for  many,  many  days,  perhaps  for  ever.  I was  excited  by 
this  romantic  and  chivalric  attachment  to  such  a degree, 
that,  as  I pondered  over  it  during  sleepless  nights,  I 
was  childish  enough  to  address  myself  in  pathetic  mon- 
ologues, and  even  to  sigh  lugubriously,  “ Seraphina  ! 
O Seraphina  ! ” till  at  last  my  old  uncle  woke  up  and 
cried,  “«Cousin,  cousin  ! I believe  you  are  dreaming 
aloud.  Do  it  by  daytime,  if  you  can  possibly  con- 
trive it,  but  at  night  have  the  goodness  to  let  me 
sleep.”  I was  very  much  afraid  that  the  old  gentle- 
man, who  had  not  failed  to  remark  my  excitement  on 
the  Baroness’s  arrival,  had  heard  the  name,  and  would 
overwhelm  me  with  his  sarcastic  wit.  But  next  morn- 
ing all  he  said,  as  we  went  into  the  justice-hall,  was, 
“ God  grant  every  man  the  proper  amount  of  common 
sense,  and  sufficient  watchfulness  to  keep  it  well  under 
hand.  It’s  a bad  look-out  when  a man  becomes  con- 


THE  ENTAIL. 


239 


verted  into  a fantastic  coxcomb  without  so  much  as  a 
word  of  warning.”  Then  he  took  his  seat  at  the  great 
table  and  added,  “Write  neatly  and  distinctly,  good 
cousin,  that  I may  be  able  to  read  it  without  any 
trouble.” 

The  respect,  nay,  the  almost  filial  veneration  which 
the  Baron  entertained  towards  my  uncle,  was  mani- 
fested on  all  occasions.  Thus,  at  the  dinner-table  he 
had  to  occupy  the  seat — which  many  envied  him — be- 
side the  Baroness  ; as  for  me,  chance  threw  me  first  in 
one  place  and  then  in  another  ; but  for  the  most  part, 
two  or  three  officers  from  the  neighbouring  capital 
were  wont  to  attach  me  to  them,  in  order  that  they 
might  empty  to  their  own  satisfaction  their  budget  of 
news  and  amusing  anecdotes,  whilst  diligently  passing 
the  wine  about.  Thus  it  happened  that  for  several 
days  in  succession  I sat  at  the  bottom  of  the  table  at  a 
great  distance  from  the  Baroness.  At  length,  however, 
chance  brought  me  nearer  to  her.  Just  as  the  doors 
of  the  dining-hall  were  thrown  open  for  the  assembled 
company,  I happened  to  be  in  the  midst  of  a conversa- 
tion with  the  Baroness’s  companion  and  confidante, — 
a lady  no  longer  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  but  by  no 
means  ill-looking,  and  not  without  intelligence, — and 
she  seemed  to  take  some  interest  in  my  remarks.  Ac- 
cording to  etiquette,  it  was  my  duty  to  offer  her  my 
arm,  and  I was  not  a little  pleased  when  she  took  her 
place  quite  close  to  the  Baroness,  who  gave  her  a 
friendly  nod.  It  may  be  readily  imagined  that  all  that 
I now  said  was  intended  not  only  for  my  fair  neighbour, 
but  also  mainly  for  the  Baroness.  Whether  it  was  that 
the  inward  tension  of  my  feelings  imparted  an  especial 
animation  to  all  I said,  at  any  rate  my  companion’s  at- 
tention became  more  riveted  with  every  succeeding 
moment ; in  fact,  she  was  at  last  entirely  absorbed  in 


240 


THE  ENTAIL. 


the  visions  of  the  kaleidoscopic  world  which  I unfolded 
to  her  gaze.  As  remarked,  she  was  not  without  intel- 
ligence, and  it  soon  came  to  pass  that  our  conversation, 
completely  independent  of  the  multitude  of  words 
spoken  by  the  other  guests  (which  rambled  about  first 
to  this  subject  and  then  to  that),  maintained  its  own 
free  course,  launching  an  effective  word  now  and  again 
whither  I wanted  it.  For  I did  not  fail  to  observe  that 
my  companion  shot  a significant  glance  or  two  across 
to  the  Baroness,  and  that  the  latter  took  pains  to  listen 
to  us.  And  this  was  particularly  the  case  when  the 
conversation  turned  upon  music  and  I began  to  speak 
with  enthusiasm  of  this  glorious  and  sacred  art ; nor 
did  I conceal  that,  despite  the  fact  of  my  having  de- 
voted myself  to  the  dry  tedious  study  of  the  law,  I pos- 
sessed tolerable  skill  on  the  harpsichord,  could  sing, 
and  had  even  set  several  songs  to  music. 

The  majority  of  the  company  had  gone  into  another 
room  to  take  coffee  and  liqueurs  ; but,  unawares,  with- 
out knowing  how  it  came  about,  I found  myself  near 
the  Baroness,  who  was  talking  with  her  confidante. 
She  at  once  addressed  me,  repeating  in  a still  more 
cordial  manner  and  in  the  tone  in  which  one  talks  to 
an  acquaintance,  her  inquiries  as  to  how  I liked  living 
in  the  castle,  &c.  I assured  her  that  for  the  first  few 
days,  not  only  the  dreary  desolation  of  the  situation, 
but  the  ancient  castle  itself  had  affected  me  strangely, 
but  even  in  this  mood  I had  found  much  of  deep  in- 
terest, and  that  now  my  only  wish  was  to  be  excused 
from  the  stirring  scenes  of  the  hunt,  for  I had  not  been 
accustomed  to  them.  The  Baroness  smiled  and  said, 
“ I can  readily  believe  that  this  wild  life  in  our  fir  for- 
ests cannot  be  very  congenial  to  you.  You  are  a mu- 
sician, and,  unless  I am  utterly  mistaken,  a poet  as 
well.  I am  passionately  fond  of  both  arts.  I can  also 


THE  ENTAIL. 


241 


play  the  harp  a little,  but  I have  to  do  without  it  here 
in  R— sitten,  for  my  husband  does  not  like  me  to 
bring  it  with  me.  Its  soft  strains  would  harmonize  but 
ill  with  the  wild  shouts  of  the  hunters  and  the  ringing 
blare  of  their  bugles,  which  are  the  only  sounds  that 
ought  to  be  heard  here.  And  O heaven  ! how  I should 
like  to  hear  a little  music  ! ” I protested  that  I would 
exert  all  the  skill  I had  at  my  command  to  fulfil  her 
wish,  for  there  must  surely  without  doubt  be  an  instru- 
ment of  some  kind  in  the  castle,  even  though  it  were 
only  an  old  harpsichord.  Then  the  Lady  Adelheid  (the 
Baroness’s  confidante)  burst  out  into  a silvery  laugh 
and  asked,  did  I not  know  that  within  the  memory  of 
man  no  other  instrument  had  ever  been  heard  in  the 
castle  except  cracked  trumpets,  and  hunting-horns 
which  in  the  midst  of  joy  would  only  sound  lugu- 
brious notes,  and  the  twanging  fiddles,  untuned  violon- 
cellos, and  braying  oboes  of  itinerant  musicians.  The 
Baroness  reiterated  her  wish  that  she  should  like  to 
have  some  music,  and  especially  should  like  to  hear 
me  ; and  both  she  and  Adelheid  racked  their  brains  all 
to  no  purpose  to  devise  some  scheme  by  which  they 
could  get  a decent  pianoforte  brought  to  the  Castle. 
At  this  moment  old  Francis  crossed  the  room.  “ Here’s 
the  man  who  always  can  give  the  best  advice,  and  can 
procure  everything,  even  things  before  unheard  of  and 
unseen.”  With  these  words  the  Lady  Adelheid  called 
him  to  her,  and  as  she  endeavoured  to  make  him  com- 
prehend what  it  was  that  was  wanted,  the  Baroness  lis- 
tened with  her  hands  clasped  and  her  head  bent  for- 
ward, looking  upon  the  old  man’s  face  with  a gentle 
smile.  She  made  a most  attractive  picture,  like  some 
lovely,  winsome  child  that  is  all  eagerness  to  have  a 
wished-for  toy  in  its  hands.  Francis,  after  having  ad- 
duced in  his  prolix  manner  several  reasons  why  it 


THE  ENTAIL. 


242 

would  be  downright  impossible  to  procure  sucn  a won- 
derful instrument  in  such  a big  hurry,  finally  stroked 
his  beard  with  an  air  of  self-flattery  and  said,  “ But  the 
land-steward’s  lady  up  at  the  village  performs  on  the 
manichord,  or  whatever  is  the  outlandish  name  they 
now  call  it,  with  uncommon  skill,  and  sings  to  it  so  fine 
and  mournful-like  that  it  makes  your  eyes  red,  just  like 
onions  do,  and  makes  you  feel  as  if  you  would  like  to 
dance  with  both  legs  at  once.”  “And  you  say  she  has 
a pianoforte  ? ” interposed  Lady  Adelheid.  “ Aye,  to 
be  sure,”  continued  the  old  man  ; “ it  corned  straight 
from  Dresden;  a” — (“Oh,  that’s  fine!”  interrupted 
the  Baroness) — “ a beautiful  instrument,”  went  on  the 
old  man,  “but  a little  weakly  ; for  not  long  ago,  when 
the  organist  began  to  play  on  it  the  hymn  ‘ In  all  Thy 
works,’1  he  broke  it  all  to  pieces,  so  that” — (“Good 
gracious ! ” exclaimed  both  the  Baroness  and  Lady 
Adelheid) — “so  that,”  went  on  the  old  man  again,  “it 

had  to  be  taken  to  R to  be  mended,  and  cost  a lot 

of  money.”  “But  has  it  come  back  again?”  asked 
Lady  Adelheid  impatiently.  “Aye,  to  be  sure,  my  lady, 

and  the  steward’s  lady  will  reckon  it  a high  honour ” 

At  this  moment  the  Baron  chanced  to  pass.  He  looked 
across  at  our  group  rather  astonished,  and  whispered 
with  a sarcastic  smile  to  the  Baroness,  “ So  you  have 
to  take  counsel  of  Francis  again,  I see  ? ” The  Baron- 
ess cast  down  her  eyes  blushing,  whilst  old  Francis 
breaking  off  terrified,  suddenly  threw  himself  into  mili- 
tary posture,  his  head  erect,  and  his  arms  close  and 
straight  down  his  side.  The  old  aunts  came  sailing 
down  upon  us  in  their  stuff  gowns  and  carried  off  the 
Baroness.  Lady  Adelheid  followed  her,  and  I was  left 


1 By  Paul  Fleming  (1609-1640)  ; one  of  the  pious  but  gloomy  relig- 
ious songs  of  this  leading  spirit  of  the  “first  Silesian  school.” 


THE  ENTAIL. 


243 


alone  as  if  spell-bound.  A struggle  began  to  rage 
within  me  between  my  rapturous  anticipations  of  now 
being  able  to  be  near  her  whom  I adored,  who  com- 
pletely swayed  all  my  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  my 
sulky  ill-humour  and  annoyance  at  the  Baron,  whom  I 
regarded  as  a barbarous  tyrant.  If  he  were  not,  would 
the  grey-haired  old  servant  have  assumed  such  a slav- 
ish attitude  ? 

“ Do  you  hear  ? Can  you  see,  I say  ? ” cried  my 
great-uncle,  tapping  me  on  the  shoulder ; — we  were 
going  upstairs  to  our  own  apartments.  “ Don’t  force 
yourself  so  on  the  Baroness’s  attention,”  he  said  when 
we  reached  the  room.  “ What  good  can  come  of  it  ? 
Leave  that  to  the  young  fops  who  like  to  pay  court  to 
ladies  ; there  are  plenty  of  them  to  do  it.”  I related 
how  it  had  all  come  about,  and  challenged  him  to  say 
if  I had  deserved  his  reproof.  His  only  reply  to  this, 
however,  was,  “ Humph  ! humph  ! ” as  he  drew  on  his 
dressing-gown.  Then,  having  lit  his  pipe,  he  took  his 
seat  in  his  easy-chair  and  began  to  talk  about  the 
adventures  of  the  hunt  on  the  preceding  day,  banter- 
ing me  on  my  bad  shots.  All  was  quiet  in  the  castle ; 
all  the  visitors,  both  gentlemen  and  ladies,  were  busy 
in  their  own  rooms  dressing  for  the  evening.  For  the 
musicians  with  the  twanging  fiddles,  untuned  violon- 
cellos, and  braying  oboes,  of  whom  Lady  Adelheid  had 
spoken,  were  come,  and  a merrymaking  of  no  less  im- 
portance than  a ball,  to  be  given  in  the  best  possible 
style,  was  in  anticipation.  My  old  uncle,  preferring  a 
quiet  sleep  to  such  foolish  pastimes,  stayed  in  his 
chamber.  I,  however,  had  just  finished  dressing  when 
there  came  alight  tap  at  our  door,  and  Francis  entered. 
Smiling  in  his  self-satisfied  way,  he  announced  to  me 
that  the  manichord  had  just  arrived  from  the  land- 
steward’s  lady  in  a sledge,  and  had  been  carried  into 


244 


THE  ENTAIL. 


the  Baroness’s  apartments.  Lady  Adelheid  sent  her 
compliments  and  would  I go  over  at  once.  It  may  be 
conceived  how  my  pulse  beat,  and  also  with  what  a 
delicious  tremor  at  heart  I opened  the  door  of  the 
room  in  which  I was  to  find  her.  Lady  Adelheid  came 
to  meet  me  with  a joyful  smile.  The  Baroness,  already 
in  full  dress  for  the  ball,  was  sitting  in  a meditative 
attitude  beside  the  mysterious  case  or  box,  in  which 
slumbered  the  music  that  I was  called  upon  to  awaken. 
When  she  rose,  her  beauty  shone  upon  me  with  such 
glorious  splendour  that  I stood  staring  at  her  unable 
to  utter  a word.  “Come,  Theodore” — (for,  according 
to  the  kindly  custom  of  the  North,  which  is  found 
again  farther  south,  she  addressed  everybody  by  his 
or  her  Christian  name) — “ Come,  Theodore,”  she  said 
pleasantly,  “here’s  the  instrument  come.  Heaven 
grant  it  be  not  altogether  unworthy  of  your  skill  ! ” 
As  I opened  the  lid  I was  greeted  by  the  rattling  of  a 
score  of  broken  strings,  and  when  I attempted  to  strike 
a chord,  the  effect  was  hideous  and  abominable,  for  all 
the  strings  which  were  not  broken  were  completely 
out  of  tune.  “ I doubt  not  our  friend  the  organist  has 
been  putting  his  delicate  little  hands  upon  it  again,” 
said  Lady  Adelheid  laughing  ; but  the  Baroness  was 
very  much  annoyed  and  said,  “ Oh,  it  really  is  a slice 
of  bad  luck  ! I am  doomed,  I see,  never  to  have  any 
pleasure  here.”  I searched  in  the  case  of  the  instru- 
ment, and  fortunately  found  some  coils  of  strings,  but 
no  tuning-key  anywhere.  Hence  fresh  laments.  “ Any 
key  will  do  if  the  ward  will  fit  on  the  pegs,”  I explained; 
then  both  Lady  Adelheid  and  the  Baroness  ran  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  gay  spirits,  and  before  long  a 
whole  magazine  of  bright  keys  lay  before  me  on  the 
sounding-board. 

Then  I set  to  work  diligently,  and  both  the  ladies 


THE  ENTAIL. 


245 


assisted  me  all  they  could,  trying  first  one  peg  and 
then  another.  At  length  one  of  the  tiresome  keys 
fitted,  and  they  exclaimed  joyfully,  “ This  will  do  ! it 
will  do  ! ” But  when  I had  drawn  the  first  creaking 
string  up  to  just  proper  pitch,  it  suddenly  snapped, 
and  the  ladies  recoiled  in  alarm.  The  Baroness,  hand- 
ling the  brittle  wires  with  her  delicate  little  fingers, 
gave  me  the  numbers  as  I wanted  them,  and  carefully 
held  the  coil  whilst  I unrolled  it.  Suddenly  one  of 
them  coiled  itself  up  again  with  a whirr,  making  the 
Baroness  utter  an  impatient  “ Oh  ! ” Lady  Adelheid 
enjoyed  a hearty  laugh,  whilst  I pursued  the  tangled 
coil  to  the  corner  of  the  room.  After  we  had  all  united 
our  efforts  to  extract  a perfectly  straight  string  from  it, 
and  had  tried  it  again,  to  our  mortification  it  again 
broke  ; but  at  last — at  last  we  found  some  good  coils  ; 
the  strings  began  to  hold,  and  gradually  the  discordant 
jangling  gave  place  to  pure  melodious  chords.  “ Ha  ! 
it  will  go  ! it  will  go  ! The  instrument  is  getting  in 
tune  ! ” exclaimed  the  Baroness,  looking  at  me  with 
her  lovely  smile.  How  quickly  did  this  common 
interest  banish  all  the  strangeness  and  shyness  which 
the  artificial  manners  of  social  intercourse  impose.  A 
kind  of  confidential  familiarity  arose  between  us, 
which,  burning  through  me  like  an  electric  current, 
consumed  the  timorous  nervousness  and  constraint 
which  had  lain  like  ice  upon  my  heart.  That  peculiar 
mood  of  diffused  melting  sadness  which  is  engendered 
of  such  love  as  mine  was  had  quite  left  me  ; and  ac- 
cordingly, when  the  pianoforte  was  brought  into  some- 
thing like  tune,  instead  of  interpreting  my  deeper  feel- 
ings in  dreamy  improvisations,  as  I had  intended,  I 
began  with  those  sweet  and  charming  canzonets  which 
have  reached  us  from  the  South.  During  this  or  the 
other  Senza  di  ie  (Without  thee),  or  Seniimi  idol  mio 


246 


THE  ENTAIL. 


(Hear  me,  my  darling),  or  Ahnen  se  non poss’io  (At  least 
if  I cannot),  with  numberless  Morir  mi  sentos  (I  feel  I 
am  dying),  and  Addios  (Farewell),  and  O dios ! (O 
Heaven  !),  a brighter  and  brighter  brilliancy  shone  in 
Seraphina’s  eyes.  She  had  seated  herself  close  beside 
me  at  the  instrument  ; I felt  her  breath  fanning  my 
cheek  ; and  as  she  placed  her  arm  behind  me  on  the 
chair-back,  a white  ribbon,  getting  disengaged  from 
her  beautiful  ball-dress,  fell  across  my  shoulder,  where 
by  my  singing  and  Seraphina’s  soft  sighs  it  was  kept  in 
a continual  flutter  backwards  and  forwards,  like  a true 
love-messenger.  It  is  a wonder  how  I kept  from  losing 
my  head. 

As  I was  running  my  fingers  aimlessly  over  the  keys, 
thinking  of  a new  song,  Lady  Adelheid,  who  had  been 
sitting  in  one  of  the  corners  of  the  room,  ran  across  to 
us,  and,  kneeling  down  before  the  Baroness,  begged 
her,  as  she  took  both  her  hands  and  clasped  them  to 
her  bosom,  “ Oh,  dear  Baroness  ! darling  Seraphina  ! 
now  you  must  sing  too.”  To  this  she  replied,  “What- 
ever are  you  thinking  about,  Adelheid  ? How  could 
I dream  of  letting  our  virtuoso  friend  hear  such  poor 
singing  as  mine  ? ” And  she  looked  so  lovely,  as,  like 
a shy  good  child,  she  cast  down  her  eyes  and  blushed, 
timidly  contending  with  the  desire  to  sing.  That  I 
too  added  my  entreaties  can  easily  be  imagined  ; nor, 
upon  her  making  mention  of  some  little  Courland 
Volkslieder  or  popular  songs,  did  I desist  from  my  en- 
treaties until  she  stretched  out  her  left  hand  towards 
the  instrument  and  tried  a few  notes  by  way  of  intro- 
duction. I rose  to  make  way  for  her  at  the  piano,  but 
she  would  not  permit  me  to  do  so,  asserting  that  she 
could  not  play  a single  chord,  and  for  that  reason, 
since  she  would  have  to  sing  without  accompaniment, 
her  performance  would  be  poor  and  uncertain.  She 


THE  ENTAIL. 


247 


began  in  a sweet  voice,  pure  as  a bell,  that  came 
straight  from  her  heart,  and  sang  a song  whose  simple 
melody  bore  all  the  characteristics  of  those  Volkslieder 
which  proceed  from  the  lips  with  such  a lustrous 
brightness,  so  to  speak,  that  we  cannot  help  perceiving 
in  the  glad  light  which  surrounds  us  our  own  higher 
poetic  nature.  There  lies  a mysterious  charm  in  the 
insignificant  words  of  the  text  which  converts  them 
into  a hieroglyphic  scroll  representative  of  the  unut- 
terable emotions  which  throng  our  hearts.  Who  does 
not  know  that  Spanish  canzonet  the  substance  of  which 
is  in  words  little  more  than,  “ With  my  maiden  I em- 
barked on  the  sea  ; a storm  came  on,  and  my  timid 
maiden  was  tossed  up  and  down  : nay,  I will  never 
again  embark  on  the  sea  with  my  maiden  ? ” And  the 
Baroness’s  little  song  contained  nothing  more  than, 
“ Lately  I was  dancing  with  my  sweetheart  at  a wed- 
ding ; a flower  fell  out  of  my  hair  ; he  picked  it  up 
and  gave  it  me,  and  said,  ‘ When,  sweetheart  mine, 
shall  we  go  to  a wedding  again  ? ’ ” When,  on  her 
beginning  the  second  verse  of  the  song,  I played  an 
arpeggio  accompaniment,  and  further  when,  in  the  in- 
spiration which  now  took  possession  of  me,  I at  once 
stole  from  the  Baroness’s  own  lips  the  melodies  of  the 
other  songs  she  sang,  I doubtless  appeared  in  her  eyes, 
and  in  those  of  the  Lady  Adelheid,  to  be  one  of  the 
greatest  of  masters  in  the  art  of  music,  for  they  over- 
whelmed me  with  enthusiastic  praise.  The  lights  and 
illuminations  from  the  ball-room,  situated  in  one  of  the 
wings  of  the  castle,  now  shone  across  into  the  Baron- 
ess’s chamber,  whilst  a discordant  bleating  of  trumpets 
and  French  horns  announced  that  it  was  time  to  gather 
for  the  ball.  “ Oh,  now  I must  go,”  said  the  Baroness. 

I started  up  from  the  pianoforte.  “You  have  afforded 
me  a delightful  hour  ; these  have  been  the  pleasantest 


248 


THE  ENTAIL. 


moments  I have  ever  spent  in  R — sitten,”  she  added, 
offering  me  her  hand  ; and  as  in  the  extreme  intoxica- 
tion of  delight  I pressed  it  to  my  lips,  I felt  her  fingers 
close  upon  my  hand  with  a sudden  convulsive  tremor. 
I do  not  know  how  I managed  to  reach  my  uncle’s 
chamber,  and  still  less  how  I got  into  the  ball-room. 
There  was  a certain  Gascon  who  was  afraid  to  go  into 
battle  since  he  was  all  heart,  and  every  wound  would 
be  fatal  to  him.  I might  be  compared  to  him  ; and  so 
might  everybody  else  who  is  in  the  same  mood  that  I 
was  in  ; every  touch  was  then  fatal.  The  Baroness’s 
hand — her  tremulous  fingers — had  affected  me  like  a 
poisoned  arrow  ; my  blood  was  burning  in  my  veins. 

On  the  following  morning  my  old  uncle,  without 
asking  any  direct  questions,  had  soon  drawn  from  me 
a full  account  of  the  hour  I had  spent  in  the  Baroness’s 
society,  and  I was  not  a little  abashed  when  the  smile 
vanished  from  his  lips  and  the  jocular  note  from  his 
words,  and  he  grew  serious  all  at  once,  saying,  “Cousin, 
I beg  you  will  resist  this  folly  which  is  taking  such  a 
powerful  hold  upon  you.  Let  me  tell  you  that  your 
present  conduct,  as  harmless  as  it  now  appears,  may 
lead  to  the  most  terrible  consequences.  In  your 
thoughtless  fatuity  you  are  standing  on  a thin  crust  of 
ice,  which  may  break  under  you  ere  you  are  aware  of  it, 
and  let  you  in  with  a plunge.  I shall  take  good  care 
not  to  hold  you  fast  by  the  coat-tails,  for  I know  you 
will  scramble  out  again  pretty  quick,  and  then,  when 
you  are  lying  sick  unto  death)  you  will  say,  ‘ I got  this 
little  bit  of  a cold  in  a dream.’  But  I warn  you  that  a 
malignant  fever  will  gnaw  at  your  vitals,  and  years  will 
pass  before  you  recover  yourself,  and  are  a man  again. 
The  deuce  take  your  music  if  you  can  put  it  to  no  bet- 
ter use  than  to  cozen  sentimental  young  women  out  of 
their  quiet  peace  of  mind.”  “ But,”  I began,  interrupt- 


THE  ENTAIL. 


249 


ing  the  old  gentleman,  “ but  have  I ever  thought  of  in- 
sinuating myself  as  the  Baroness’s  lover?”  “You 
puppy ! ” cried  the  old  gentleman,  “ if  I thought  so  I 
would  pitch  you  out  of  this  window.”  At  this  juncture 
the  Baron  entered,  and  put  an  end  to  the  painful  conver- 
sation ; and  the  business  to  which  I now  had  to  turn  my 
attention  brought  me  back  from  my  love-sick  reveries, 
in  which  I saw  and  thought  of  nothing  but  Seraphina. 

In  general  society  the  Baroness  only  occasionally  in- 
terchanged a few  friendly  words  with  me  ; but  hardly 
an  evening  passed  in  which  a secret  message  was  not 
brought  to  me  from  Lady  Adelheid,  summoning  me  to 
Seraphina.  It  soon  came  to  pass  that  our  music  alter- 
nated with  conversations  on  divers  topics.  Whenever 
I and  Seraphina  began  to  get  too  absorbed  in  senti- 
mental dreams  and  vague  aspirations,  the  Lady  Adel- 
heid, though  now  hardly  young  enough  to  be  so  naive 
and  droll  as  she  once  was,  yet  intervened  with  all  sorts 
of  merry  and  somewhat  chaotic  nonsense.  From  sev- 
eral hints  she  let  fall,  I soon  discovered  that  the  Bar- 
oness really  had  something  preying  upon  her  mind, 
even  as  I thought  I had  read  in  her  eyes  the  very  first 
moment  I saw  her  ; and  I clearly  discerned  the  hostile 
influence  of  the  apparition  of  the  castle.  Something 
terrible  had  happened  or  was  to  happen.  Although  I 
was  often  strongly  impelled  to  tell  Seraphina  in  what 
way  I had  come  in  contact  with  the  invisible  enemy, 
and  how  my  old  uncle  had  banished  him,  undoubtedly 
for  ever,  I yet  felt  my  tongue  fettered  by  a hesitation 
which  was  inexplicable  to  myself  even,  whenever  I 
opened  my  mouth  to  speak. 

One  day  the  Baroness  failed  to  appear  at  the  dinner 
table  ; it  was  said  that  she  was  a little  unwell,  and  could 
not  leave  her  room.  Sympathetic  inquiries  were  ad- 
dressed to  the  Baron  as  to  whether  her  illness  was  of  a 


250 


THE  ENTAIL. 


grave  nature.  He  smiled  in  a very  disagreeable  way, 
in  fact,  it  was  almost  like  bitter  irony,  and  said,  “ Noth- 
ing more  than  a slight  catarrh,  which  she  has  got  from 
our  blustering  sea-breezes.  They  can’t  tolerate  any 
sweet  voices  ; the  only  sounds  they  will  endure  are  the 
hoarse  ‘Halloos’  of  the  chase.”  At  these  words  the 
Baron  hurled  a keen  searching  look  at  me  across  the 
table,  for  I sat  obliquely  opposite  to  him.  He  had  not 
spoken  to  his  neighbour,  but  to  me.  Lady  Adelheid, 
who  sat  beside  me,  blushed  a scarlet  red.  Fixing  her 
eyes  upon  the  plate  in  front  of  her,  and  scribbling 
about  on  it  with  her  fork,  she  whispered,  “And  yet 
you  must  see  Seraphina  to-day  ; your  sweet  songs  shall 
to-day  also  bring  soothing  and  comfort  to  her  poor 
heart.”  Adelheid  addressed  these  words  to  me  ; but  at 
this  moment  it  struck  me  that  I was  almost  apparently 
entangled  in  a base  and  forbidden  intrigue  with  the 
Baroness,  which  Could  only  end  in  some  terrible  crime. 
My  old  uncle’s  warning  fell  heavily  upon  my  heart. 
What  should  I do  ? Not  see  her  again  ? That  was  im- 
possible so  long  as  I remained  in  the  castle  ; and  even 

if  I might  leave  the  castle  and  return  to  K , I had 

not  the  will  to  do  it.  Oh  ! I felt  only  too  deeply  that  I 
was  not  strong  enough  to  shake  myself  out  of  this 
dream,  which  was  mocking  me  with  delusive  hopes  of 
happiness.  Adelheid  I almost  regarded  in  the  light  of 
a common  go-between  ; I would  despise  her,  and  yet, 
upon  second  thoughts,  I could  not  help  being  ashamed 
of  my  folly.  Had  anything  ever  happened  during  those 
blissful  evening  hours  which  could  in  the  least  degree 
lead  to  any  nearer  relation  with  Seraphina  than  was 
permissible  by  propriety  and  morality  ? How  dare  I 
let  the  thought  enter  my  mind  that  the  Baroness  would 
ever  entertain  any  warm  feeling  for  me  ? And  yet  I 
was  convinced  of  the  danger  of  my  situation. 


THE  ENTAIL. 


251 

We  broke  up  from  dinner  earlier  than  usual,  in 
order  to  go  again  after  some  wolves  which  had  been 
seen  in  the  fir-wood  close  by  the  castle.  A little 
hunting  was  just  the  thing  I wanted  in  the  excited 
frame  of  mind  in  which  I then  was.  I expressed  to 
my  uncle  my  resolve  to  accompany  the  party  ; he 
gave  me  an  approving  smile  and  said,  “ That’s  right  ; 
I am  glad  you  are  going  out  with  them  for  once.  I 
shall  stay  at  home,  so  you  can  take  my  firelock  with 
you,  and  buckle  my  whinger  round  your  waist  ; in 
case  of  need  it  is  a good  and  trusty  weapon,  if  you 
only  keep  your  presence  of  mind.”  That  part  of  the 
wood  in  which  the  wolves  were  supposed  to  lie  was 
surrounded  by  the  huntsmen.  It  was  bitterly  cold  ; 
the  wind  howled  through  the  firs,  and  drove  the  light 
snow-flakes  right  in  my  face,  so  that  when  at  length 
it  came  on  to  be  dusk  I could  scarcely  see  six  paces 
before  me.  Quite  benumbed  by  the  cold,  I left  the 
place  that  had  been  assigned  to  me  and  sought  shelter 
deeper  in  the  wood.  There,  leaning  against  a tree, 
with  my  firelock  under  my  arm,  I forgot  the  wolf-hunt 
entirely  ; my  thoughts  had  travelled  back  to  Seraphina’s 
cosy  room.  After  a time  shots  were  heard  in  the  far 
distance  ; but  at  the  same  moment  there  was  a rustling 
in  the  reed-bank,  and  I saw  not  ten  paces  from  me  a 
huge  wolf  about  to  run  past  me.  I took  aim,  and  fired, 
but  missed.  The  brute  sprang  towards  me  with  glaring 
eyes  ; I should  have  been  lost  had  I not  had  sufficient 
presence  of  mind  to  draw  my  hunting-knife,  and,  just 
as  the  brute  was  flying  at  me,  to  drive  it  deep  into  his 
throat,  so  that  the  blood  spurted  out  over  my  hand  and 
arm.  One  of  the  Baron’s  keepers,  who  had  stood  not 
far  from  me,  came  running  up  with  a loud  shout,  and  at 
his  repeated  “ Halloo  ! ” all  the  rest  soon  gathered  round 
us.  The  Baron  hastened  up  to  me,  saying,  “ For  God’s 


252 


THE  ENTAIL. 


sake,  you  are  bleeding — you  are  bleeding.  Are  you 
wounded?”  I assured  him  that  I was  not.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  keeper  who  had  stood  nearest  to  me,  and 
overwhelmed  him  with  reproaches  for  not  having  shot 
after  me  when  I missed.  And  notwithstanding  that 
the  man  maintained  this  to  have  been  perfectly  impos- 
sible, since  in  the  very  same  moment  the  wolf  had 
rushed  upon  me,  and  any  shot  would  have  been  at  the 
risk  of  hitting  me,  the  Baron  persisted  in  saying  that 
he  ought  to  have  taken  especial  care  of  me  as  a less 
experienced  hunter.  Meanwhile  the  keepers  had  lifted 
up  the  dead  animal  ; it  was  one  of  the  largest  that  had 
been  seen  for  a long  time  ; and  everybody  admired  my 
courage  and  resolution,  although  to  myself  what  I had 
done  appeared  quite  natural.  I had  not  for  a moment 
thought  of  the  danger  I had  run.  The  Baron  in  par- 
ticular seemed  to  take  very  great  interest  in  the  matter ; 
I thought  he  would  never  be  done  asking  me  whether, 
though  I was  not  wounded  by  the  brute,  I did  not  fear 
the  ill  effects  that  would  follow  from  the  fright.  As  we 
went  back  to  the  castle,  the  Baron  took  me  by  the  arm 
like  a friend,  and  I had  to  give  my  firelock  to  a keeper 
to  carry.  He  still  continued  to  talk  about  my  heroic 
deed,  so  that  eventually  I came  to  believe  in  my  own 
heroism,  and  lost  all  my  constraint  and  embarrassment, 
and  felt  that  I had  established  myself  in  the  Baron’s 
eyes  as  a man  of  courage  and  uncommon  resolution. 
The  schoolboy  had  passed  his  examination  successfully, 
was  now  no  longer  a schoolboy,  and  all  the  submissive 
nervousness  of  the  schoolboy  had  left  him.  I now 
conceived  I had  earned  a right  to  try  and  gain  Sera- 
phina’s  favour.  Everybody  knows  of  course  what 
ridiculous  combinations  the  fancy  of  a love-sick  youth 
is  capable  of.  In  the  castle,  over  the  smoking  punch- 
bowl, by  the  fireside,  I was  the  hero  of  the  hour.  Be* 


THE  ENTAIL. 


253 


sides  myself  the  Baron  was  the  only  one  of  the  party 
who  had  killed  a wolf — also  a formidable  one  ; the  rest 
had  to  be  content  with  ascribing  their  bad  shots  to  the 
weather  and  the  darkness,  and  with  relating  thrilling 
stories  of  their  former  exploits  in  hunting  and  the  dan- 
gers they  had  escaped.  I thought,  too,  that  I might 
reap  an  especial  share  of  praise  and  admiration  from 
my  old  uncle  as  well  ; and  so,  with  a view  to  this  end, 
I related  to  him  my  adventure  at  pretty  considerable 
length,  nor  did  I forget  to  paint  the  savage  brute’s 
wild  and  bloodthirsty  appearance  in  very  startling 
colours.  The  old  gentleman,  however,  only  laughed 
in  my  face  and  said,  “ God  is  powerful  even  in  the 
weak.” 

Tired  of  drinking  and  of  the  company,  I was  going 
quietly  along  the  corridor  towards  the  justice-hall 
when  I saw  a figure  with  a light  slip  in  before  me.  On 
entering  the  hall  I saw  it  was  Lady  Adelheid.  “ This 
is  the  way  we  have  to  wander  about  like  ghosts  or 
night-walkers  in  order  to  catch  you,  my  brave  slayer 
of  wolves,”  she  whispered,  taking  my  arm.  The  words 
“ghosts”  and  “sleep-walkers,”  pronounced  in  the 
place  where  we  were,  fell  like  lead  upon  my  heart  ; they 
immediately  brought  to  my  recollection  the  ghostly 
apparitions  of  those  two  awful  nights.  As  then,  so 
now,  the  wind  came  howling  in  from  the  sea  in  deep 
organ-like  cadences,  rattling  the  oriel  windows  again 
and  again  and  whistling  fearfully  through  them,  whilst 
the  moon  cast  her  pale  gleams  exactly  upon  the 
mysterious  part  of  the  wall  where  the  scratching  had 
been  heard.  I fancied  I discerned  stains  of  blood 
upon  it.  Doubtless  Lady  Adelheid,  who  still  had  hold 
of  my  hand,  must  have  felt  the  cold  icy  shiver  which 
ran  through  me.  “What’s  the  matter  with  you?” 
she  whispered  softly;  “what's  the  matter  with  you? 


254 


THE  ENTAIL. 


You  are  as  cold  as  marble.  Come,  I will  call  you 
back  into  life.  Do  you  know  how  very  impatient  the 
Baroness  is  to  see  you  ? And  until  she  does  see  you 
she  will  not  believe  that  the  ugly  wolf  has  not  really 
bitten  you.  She  is  in  a terrible  state  of  anxiety  about 
you.  Why,  my  friend, — oh  ! how  have  you  awakened 
this  interest  in  the  little  Seraphina  ? I have  never  seen 
her  like  this.  Ah  ! — -so  now  the  pulse  is  beginning  to 
prickle  ; see  how  quickly  the  dead  man  comes  to  life  ! 
Well,  come  along — but  softly,  still  ! Come,  we  must 
go  to  the  little  Baroness.”  I suffered  myself  to  be  led 
away  in  silence.  The  way  in  •which  Adelheid  spoke 
of  the  Baroness  seemed  to  me  undignified,  and  the 
innuendo  of  an  understanding  between  us  positively 
shameful.  When  I entered  the  room  along  with 
Adelheid,  Seraphina,  with  a low-breathed  “ Oh  ! ” ad- 
vanced three  or  four  paces  quickly  to  meet  me  ; but 
then,  as  if  recollecting  herself,  she  stood  still  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  I ventured  to  take  her  hand  and 
press  it  to  my  lips.  Allowing  it  to  rest  in  mine,  she 
asked,  “ But,  for  Heaven’s  sake  ! is  it  your  business  to 
meddle  with  wolves  ? Don’t  you  know’  that  the  fabu- 
lous days  of  Orpheus  and  Amphion  are  long  past,  and 
that  wild  beasts  have  quite  lost  all  respect  for  even 
the  most  admirable  of  singers  ?”  But  this  graceful 
turn,  by  which  the  Baroness  at  once  effectually  guarded 
against  all  misinterpretation  of  her  wTarm  interest  in 
me,  I was  put  immediately  into  the  proper  key  and 
the  proper  mood.  Why  I did  not  take  my  usual 
place  at  the  pianoforte  I cannot  explain,  even  to  my- 
self, nor  wThy  I sat  down  beside  the  Baroness  on  the 
sofa.  Her  question,  “ And  wdiat  were  you  doing  then 
to  get  into  danger  ? ” was  an  indication  of  our  tacit 
agreement  that  conversation,  not  music,  wTas  to  engage 
our  attention  for  that  evening.  After  I had  narrated 


THE  ENTAIL. 


255 

my  adventure  in  the  wood,  and  mentioned  the  warm 
interest  which  the  Baron  had  taken  in  it,  delicately 
hinting  that  I had  not  thought  him  capable  of  so 
much  feeling,  the  Baroness  began  in  a tender  and 
almost  melancholy  tone,  “ Oh  ! how  violent  and  rude 
you  must  think  the  Baron  ; but  I assure  you  it  is  only 
whilst  we  are  living  within  these  gloomy,  ghostly  walls, 
and  during  the  time  there  is  hunting  going  on  in  the 
dismal  fir-forests,  that  his  character  completely  changes, 
at  least  his  outward  behaviour  does.  What  principally 
disquiets  him  in  this  unpleasant  way  is  the  thought, 
which  constantly  haunts  him,  that  something  terrible 
will  happen  here.  And  that  undoubtedly  accounts  for 
the  fact  of  his  being  so  greatly  agitated  by  your  ad- 
venture, which  fortunately  has  had  no  ill  consequences. 
He  won’t  have  the  meanest  of  his  servants  exposed  to 
danger,  if  he  knows  it,  still  less  a new-won  friend 
whom  he  has  come  to  like  ; and  I am  perfectly  certain 
that  Gottlieb,  whom  he  blames  for  having  left  you  in 
the  lurch,  will  be  punished  ; even  if  he  escapes  being 
locked  up  in  a dungeon,  he  will  yet  have  to  suffer  the 
punishment,  so  mortifying  to  a hunter,  of  going  out 
the  next  time  there  is  a hunt  with  only  a club  in  his 
hand  instead  of  a rifle.  The  circumstance  that  hunts 
like  those  which  are  held  here  are  always  attended 
with  danger,  and  the  fact  that  the  Baron,  though  al- 
ways fearing  some  sad  accident,  is  yet  so  fond  of  hunt- 
ing that  he  cannot  desist  from  provoking  the  demon 
of  mischief,  make  his  existence  here  a kind  of  con- 
flict, the  ill  effects  of  which  I also  have  to  feel.  Many 
queer  stories  are  current  about  his  ancestor  who  estab- 
lished the  entail  ; and  I know  myself  that  there  is 
some  dark  family  secret  locked  within  these  walls  like 
a horrible  ghost  which  drives  away  the  owners,  and 
makes  it  impossible  for  them  to  bear  with  it  longer 


256 


THE  ENTAIL. 


than  a few  weeks  at  a time — and  that  only  amid  a 
tumult  of  jovial  guests.  But  I — Oh  ! how  lonely  I 
am  in  the  midst  of  this  noisy,  merry  company  ! And 
how  the  ghostly  influences  which  breathe  upon  me 
from  the  walls  stir  and  excite  my  very  heart  ! You, 
my  dear  friend,  have  given  me,  through  your  musical 
skill,  the  first  cheerful  moments  I have  spent  here. 
How  can  I thank  you  sufficiently  for  your  kindness!” 
I kissed  the  hand  she  offered  to  me,  saying,  that  even 
on  the  very  first  day,  or  rather  during  the  very  first 
night,  I had  experienced  the  ghostliness  of  the  place 
in  all  its  horrors.  The  Baroness  fixed  her  staring  eyes 
upon  my  face,  as  I went  on  to  describe  the  ghostly 
character  of  the  building,  discernible  everywhere 
throughout  the  castle,  particularly  in  the  decorations 
of  the  justice-hall,  and  to  speak  of  the  roaring  of  the 
wind  from  the  sea,  &c.  Possibly  my  voice  and  my 
expressions  indicated  that  I had  something  more  in 
my  mind  than  what  I said  ; at  any  rate  when  I con- 
cluded, the  Baroness  cried  vehemently,  “ No,  no  ; 
something  dreadful  has  happened  to  you  in  that  hall, 
which  I never  enter  without  shuddering.  I beg  you — 
pray,  pray,  tell  me  all.” 

Seraphina’s  face  had  grown  deadly  pale  ; and  I saw 
plainly  that  it  would  be  more  advisable  to  give  her  a 
faithful  account  of  all  that  I had  experienced  than  to 
leave  her  excited  imagination  to  conjure  up  some 
apparition  that  might  perhaps,  in  a way  I could  not 
foresee,  be  far  more  horrible  than  what  I had  actually 
encountered.  As  she  listened  to  me  her  fear  and 
strained  anxiety  increased  from  moment  to  moment  ; 
and  when  I mentioned  the  scratching  on  the  wall  she 
screamed,  “ It’s  horrible  ! Yes,  yes,  it’s  in  that  wall 
that  the  awful  secret  is  concealed  ! ” But  as  I went  on 
to  describe  with  what  spiritual  power  and  superiority 


THE  ENTAIL. 


257 


of  will  my  old  uncle  had  banished  the  ghost,  she  sighed 
deeply,  as  though  she  had  shaken  off  a heavy  burden 
that  had  weighed  oppressively  upon  her.  She  leaned 
back  in  the  sofa  and  held  her  hands  before  her  face. 
Now  I first  noticed  that  Adelheid  had  left  us.  A 
considerable  pause  ensued,  and  as  Seraphina  still  con- 
tinued silent,  I softly  rose,  and  going  to  the  pianoforte, 
endeavoured  in  swelling  chords  to  invoke  the  bright 
spirits  of  consolation  to  come  and  deliver  Seraphina 
from  the  dark  influence  to  which  my  narration  had 
subjected  her.  Then  I soon  began  to  sing  as  softly  as 
I was  able  one  of  the  Abbe  Steffani’s  1 canzonas.  The 
melancholy  strains  of  the  Ochi , perche  piangete  (O  eyes, 
why  weep  you  ?)  roused  Seraphina  out  of  her  reverie, 
and  she  listened  to  me  with  a gentle  smile  upon  her 
face,  and  bright  pearl-like  tears  in  her  eyes.  How  am 
I to  account  for  it  that  I kneeled  down  before  her, 
that  she  bent  over  towards  me,  that  I threw  my  arms 
about  her,  that  a long  ardent  kiss  was  imprinted  on 
my  lips  ? How  am  I to  account  for  it  that  I did  not 
lose  my  senses  when  she  drew  me  softly  towards  her, 
how  that  I tore  myself  from  her  arms,  and,  quickly 
rising  to  my  feet,  hurried  to  the  pianoforte  ? Turning 
from  me,  the  Baroness  took  a few  steps  towards  the 
window,  then  she  turned  round  again  and  approached 
me  with  an  air  of  almost  proud  dignity,  which  was  not 
at  all  usual  with  her.  Looking  me  straight  in  the  face, 
she  said,  “Your  uncle  is  the  most  worthy  old  man  I 
know  ; he  is  the  guardian-angel  of  our  family.  May 
he  include  me  in  his  pious  prayers!”  I was  unable 
to  utter  a word  ; the  subtle  poison  that  I had  imbibed 
with  her  kiss  burned  and  boiled  in  every  pulse  and 
nerve.  Lady  Adelheid  came  in.  The  violence  of  my 


1 See  note,  p.  40. 


258 


THE  ENTAIL. 


inward  conflict  burst  out  at  length  in  a passionate  flood 
of  tears,  which  I was  unable  to  repress.  Adelheid 
looked  at  me  with  wonder  and  smiled  dubiously  ; — I 
could  have  murdered  her.  The  Baroness  gave  me  her 
hand,  and  said  with  inexpressible  gentleness,  “ Fare- 
well, my  dear  friend.  Fare  you  right  well  ; and  re- 
member that  nobody  perhaps  has  ever  understood 
your  music  better  than  I have.  Oh  ! these  notes  ! 
they  will  echo  long,  long  in  my  heart.”  I forced  my- 
self to  utter  a few  stupid,  disconnected  words,  and  hur- 
ried up  to  my  uncle’s  room.  The  old  gentleman  had 
already  gone  to  bed.  I stayed  in  the  hall,  and  falling 
upon  my  knees,  I wept  aloud  ; I called  upon  my  be- 
loved by  name,  I gave  myself  up  completely  and  re- 
gardlessly  to  all  the  absurd  folly  of  a love-sick  lunatic, 
until  at  last  the  extravagant  noise  I made  awoke  my 
uncle.  But  his  loud  call,  “ Cousin,  I believe  you  have 
gone  cranky,  or  else  you’re  having  another  tussle  with 
a wolf.  Be  off  to  bed  with  you  if  you  will  be  so  very 
kind  ” — these  words  compelled  me  to  enter  his  room, 
where  I got  into  bed  with  the  fixed  resolve  to  dream 
only  of  Seraphina. 

It  would  be  somewhere  past  midnight  when  I 
thought  I heard  distant  voices,  a running  backwards  and 
forwards,  and  an  opening  and  banging  of  doors — for  I 
had  not  yet  fallen  asleep.  I listened  attentively  ; I 
heard  footsteps  approaching  the  corridor  ; the  hall  door 
was  opened,  and  soon  there  came  a knock  at  our  door. 
“ Who  is  there  ? ” I cried.  A voice  from  without  an- 
swered, “ Herr  Justitiarius,  Herr  Justitiarius,  wake  up, 
wake  up  ! ” I recognised  Francis’s  voice,  and  as  I 
asked,  “ Is  the  castle  on  fire  ? ” the  old  gentleman  woke 
up  in  his  turn  and  asked,  “ Where — where  is  there  a 
fire  ? Is  it  that  cursed  apparition  again  ? where  is  it  ? ” 
“Oh!  please  get  up,  Herr  Justitiarius,”  said  Francis. 


THE  ENTAIL. 


259 


“Please  get  up  ; the  Baron  wants  you.”  “What  does 
the  Baron  want  me  for  ?”  inquired  my  uncle  further  ; 
“what  does  he  want  me  for  at  this  time  of  night  ? does 
he  not  know  that  all  law  business  goes  to  bed  along 
with  the  lawyer,  and  sleeps  as  soundly  as  he  does  ? ” 
“Oh!”  cried  Francis,  now  anxiously;  “please,  Herr 
Justitiarius,  good  sir,  please  get  up.  My  lady  the  Bar- 
oness is  dying.”  I started  up  with  a cry  of  dismay. 
“Open  the  door  for  Francis,”  said  the  old  gentleman  to 
me.  I stumbled  about  the  room  almost  distracted,  and 
could  find  neither  door  nor  lock  ; my  uncle  had  to  come 
and  help  me.  Francis  came  in,  his  face  pale  and 
troubled,  and  lit  the  candles.  We  had  scarcely  thrown 
on  our  clothes  when  we  heard  the  Baron  calling  in  the 

hall,  “Can  I speak  to  you,  good  V ?”  “ But  what 

have  you  dressed  for,  cousin  ? the  Baron  only  wanted 
me,”  asked  the  old  gentleman,  on  the  point  of  going 
out.  “ I must  go  down — I must  see  her  and  then  die,” 
I replied  tragically,  and  as  if  my  heart  were  rent  by 
hopeless  grief.  “Ay,  just  so;  you  are  right,  cousin,” 
he  said,  banging  the  door  to  in  my  face,  so  that  the 
hinges  creaked,  and  locking  it  on  the  outside.  At  the 
first  moment,  deeply  incensed  at  this  restraint,  I thought 
of  bursting  the  door  open  ; but  quickly  reflecting  that 
this  would  entail  the  disagreeable  consequences  of  a 
piece  of  outrageous  insanity,  I resolved  to  await  the 
old  gentleman’s  return  ; then  however,  let  the  cost  be 
what  it  might,  I would  escape  his  watchfulness.  I heard 
him  talking  vehemently  with  the  Baron,  and  several 
times  distinguished  my  own  name,  but  could  not  make 
out  anything  further.  Every  moment  my  position  grew 
more  intolerable.  At  length  I heard  that  some  one 
brought  a message  to  the  Baron,  who  immediately  hur- 
ried off.  My  old  uncle  entered  the  room  again.  “ She 
is  dead  ! ” I cried,  running  towards  him.  “ And  you  are 


2ÖO 


THE  ENTAIL. 


a stupid  fool,”  he  interrupted  coolly  ; then  he  laid  hold 
upon  me  and  forced  me  into  a chair.  “ I must  go 
down,”  I cried,  “ I must  go  down  and  see  her,  even 
though  it  cost  me  my  life.”  “Do  so,  good  cousin,” 
said  he,  locking  the  door,  taking  out  the  key,  and  put- 
ting it  in  his  pocket.  I now  flew  into  a perfectly  fran- 
tic rage  ; stretching  out  my  hand  towards  the  rifle,  I 
screamed,  “ If  you  don’t  instantly  open  the  door  I will 
send  this  bullet  through  my  brains.”  Then  the  old 
gentleman  planted  himself  immediately  in  front  of  me, 
and  fixing  his  keen  piercing  eyes  upon  me  said,  “ Boy, 
do  you  think  you  can  frighten  me  with  your  idle  threats  ? 
Do  you  think  I should  set  much  value  on  your  life  if 
you  can  go  and  throw  it  away  in  childish  folly  like  a 
broken  plaything  ? What  have  you  to  do  with  the  Bar- 
on’s wife  ? who  has  given  you  the  right  to  insinuate 
yourself,  like  a tiresome  puppy,  where  you  have  no 
claim  to  be,  and  where  you  are  not  wanted  ? do  you  wish 
to  go  and  act  the  love-sick  swain  at  the  solemn  hour  of 
death  ? ” I sank  back  in  my  chair  utterly  confounded. 
After  a while  the  old  gentleman  went  on  more  gently, 
“And  now  let  me  tell  you  that  this  pretended  illness  of 
the  Baroness  is  in  all  probability  nothing.  Lady  Adel- 
heid always  loses  her  head  at  the  least  little  thing.  If 
a rain-drop  falls  upon  her  nose,  she  screams,  ‘What 
fearful  weather  it  is!’  Unfortunately  the  noise  pene- 
trated to  the  old  aunts,  and  they,  in  the  midst  of  unsea- 
sonable floods  of  tears,  put  in  an  appearance  armed  with, 
an  entire  arsenal  of  strengthening  drops,  elixirs  of  life, 

and  the  deuce  knows  what.  A sharp  fainting-fit  ” 

The  old  gentleman  checked  himself  ; doubtless  he  ob- 
served the  struggle  that  was  going  on  within  me.  He 
took  a few  turns  through  the  room  ; then  again  plant- 
ing himself  in  front  of  me,  he  had  a good  hearty  laugh 
and  said,  “ Cousin,  cousin,  what  nonsensical  folly  have 


THE  ENTAIL. 


261 

you  now  got  in  your  head  ? Ah  well  ! I suppose  it  can’t 
be  helped  ; the  devil  is  to  play  his  pretty  games  here  in 
divers  sorts  of  ways.  You  have  tumbled  very  nicely  in- 
to his  clutches,  and  now  he’s  making  you  dance  to  a 
sweet  tune.”  He  again  took  a few  turns  up  and  down, 
and  again  went  on,  “ It’s  no  use  to  think  of  sleep  now  ; 
and  it  occurred  to  me  that  we  might  have  a pipe,  and 
so  spend  the  few  hours  that  are  left  of  the  darkness  and 
the  night.”  With  these  words  he  took  a clay  pipe  from 
the  cupboard,  and  proceeded  to  fill  it  slowly  and  care- 
fully, humming  a song  to  himself  ; then  he  rummaged 
about  amongst  a heap  of  papers,  until  he  found  a sheet, 
which  he  picked  out  and  rolled  into  a spill  and  lighted. 
Blowing  the  tobacco-smoke  from  him  in  thick  clouds, 
he  said,  speaking  between  his  teeth,  “Well,  cousin, 
what  was  that  story  about  the  wolf  ? ” 

I know  not  how  it  was,  but  this  calm,  quiet  behaviour 
of  the  old  gentleman  operated  strangely  upon  me.  I 
seemed  to  be  no  longer  in  R — sitten,  and  the  Baroness 
was  so  far,  far  distant  from  me  that  I could  only  reach 
her  on  the  wings  of  thought.  The  old  gentleman’s 
last  question,  however,  annoyed  me.  “ But  do  you  find 
my  hunting  exploit  so  amusing  ? ” I broke  in, — “ so 
well  fitted  for  banter?”  “ By  no  means,”  he  rejoined, 
“by  no  means,  cousin  mine  ; but  you’ve  no  idea  what 
a comical  face  such  a whipper-snapper  as  you  cuts,  and 
how  ludicrously  he  acts  as  well,  when  Providence  for 
once  in  a while  honours  him  by  putting  him  in  the  way 
to  meet  with  something  out  of  the  usual  run  of  things. 
I once  had  a college  friend  who  was  a quiet,  sober  fel- 
low, and  always  on  good  terms  with  himself.  By  acci- 
dent he  became  entangled  in  an  affair  of  honour, — I say 
by  accident,  because  he  himself  was  never  in  any  way 
aggressive  ; and  although  most  of  the  fellows  looked 
upon  him  as  a poor  thing,  as  a poltroon,  he  yet  showed 


2Ö2 


THE  ENTAIL. 


so  much  firm  and  resolute  courage  in  this  affair  as 
greatly  to  excite  everybody’s  admiration.  But  from 
that  time  onwards  he  was  also  completely  changed. 
The  sober  and  industrious  youth  became  a bragging, 
insufferable  bully.  Fie  was  always  drinking  and  riot- 
ing, and  fighting  about  all  sorts  of  childish  trifles,  until 
he  was  run  through  in  a duel  by  the  Senior  1 of  an  ex- 
clusive corps.  I merely  tell  you  the  story,  cousin  ; you 
are  at  liberty  to  think  what  you  please  about  it.  But 

to  return  to  the  Baroness  and  her  illness  ” At  this 

moment  light  footsteps  were  heard  in  the  hall  ; I fan- 
cied, too,  there  was  an  unearthly  moaning  in  the  air. 
“ She  is  dead  ! ” the  thought  shot  through  me  like  a 
fatal  flash  of  lightning.  The  old  gentleman  quickly 
rose  to  his  feet  and  called  out,  “Francis,  Francis!” 
“ Yes,  my  good  Herr  Justitiarius,”  he  replied  from  with- 
out. “ Francis,”  went  on  my  uncle,  “rake  the  fire  to- 
gether a bit  in  the  grate,  and  if  you  can  manage  it,  you 
had  better  make  us  a good  cup  or  two  of  tea.”  “ It  is 
devilish  cold,”  and  he  turned  to  me,  “ and  I think  we 
had  better  go  and  sit  round  the  fire  and  talk  a little.”  He 
opened  the  door,  and  I followed  him  mechanically. 
“ How  are  things  going  on  below  ? ” he  asked.  “ Oh  ! ” 
replied  Francis  ; “there  was  not  much  the  matter.  The 
Lady  Baroness  is  all  right  again,  and  ascribes  her  bit  of 
a fainting-fit  to  a bad  dream.”  I was  going  to  break 
out  into  an  extravagant  manifestation  of  joy  and  glad- 
ness, but  a stern  glance  from  my  uncle  kept  me  quiet. 
“ And  yet,  after  all,  I think  it  would  be  better  if  we  lay 
down  for  an  hour  or  two.  You  need  not  mind  about 
the  tea,  Francis.”  “As  you  think  well,  Herr  Justitia- 

1 The  reference  is  to  a Landsmannschaft.  These  were  associations, 
at  a university,  of  students  from  the  same  state  or  country,  bound  to 
the  observance  of  certain  traditional  customs,  &c.,  and  under  the  con* 
trol  of  certain  self-elected  officers  (the  Senior  being  one). 


THE  ENTAIL. 


263 


rius,”  replied  Francis,  and  he  left  the  room  with  the  wish 
that  we  might  have  a good  night’s  rest,  albeit  the  cocks 
were  already  crowing.  “ See  here,  cousin,”  said  the 
old  gentleman,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  on 
the  grate,  “I  think,  cousin,  that  it’s  a very  good  thing 
no  harm  has  happened  to  you  either  from  wolves  or 
from  loaded  rifles.”  I now  saw  things  in  the  right 
light,  and  was  ashamed  at  myself  to  have  thus  given  the 
old  gentleman  good  grounds  for  treating  me  like  a 
spoiled  child. 

Next  morning  he  said  to  me,  “ Be  so  good  as  to  step 
down,  good  cousin,  and  inquire  how  the  Baroness  is. 
You  need  only  ask  for  Lady  Adelheid  ; she  will  supply 
you  with  a full  budget,  I have  no  doubt.”  You  may 
imagine  how  eagerly  I hastened  downstairs.  But  just  as 
I was  about  to  give  a gentle  knock  at  the  door  of  the 
Baroness’s  anteroom,  the  Baron  came  hurriedly  out  of 
the  same  He  stood  still  in  astonishment,  and  scruti- 
nised me  with  a gloomy  searching  look.  “ What  do  you 
want  here?”  burst  from  his  lips.  Notwithstanding 
that  my  heart  beat,  I controlled  myself  and  replied  in 
a firm  tone,  “To  inquire  on  my  uncle’s  behalf  how  my 
lady,  the  Baroness,  is?”  “Oh!  it  was  nothing — one 
of  her  usual  nervous  attacks.  She  is  now  having  a 
quiet  sleep,  and  will,  I am  sure,  make  her  apearance  at 
the  dinner-table  quite  well  and  cheerful.  Tell  him 
that — tell  him  that.”  This  the  Baron  said  with  a cer- 
tain degree  of  passionate  vehemence,  which  seemed  to 
me  to  imply  that  he  was  more  concerned  about  the 
Baroness  than  he  was  willing  to  show.  I turned  to  go 
back  to  my  uncle,  when  the  Baron  suddenly  seized  my 
arm  and  said,  whilst  his  eyes  flashed  fire,  “ I have  a 
word  or  two  to  say  to  you,  young  man.”  Here  I saw 
the  deeply  injured  husband  before  me,  and  feared  there 
would  be  a scene  which  would  perhaps  end  ignomini- 


264 


THE  ENTAIL. 


ously  for  me.  I was  unarmed  ; but  at  that  moment  I 
remembered  I had  in  my  pocket  the  ingeniously-made 
hunting-knife  which  my  uncle  had  presented  to  me 
after  we  got  to  R — sitten.  I now  followed  the  Baron, 
who  led  the  way  rapidly,  with  the  determination  not 
even  to  spare  his  life  if  I ran  any  risk  of  being  treated 
dishonourably. 

We  entered  the  Baron’s  own  room,  the  door  of 
which  he  locked  behind  him.  Now  he  began  to  pace 
restlessly  backwards  and  forwards,  with  his  arms 
folded  one  over  the  other  ; then  he  stopped  in  front 
of  me  and  repeated,  “ I have  a word  or  two  to  say  to 
you,  young  man.”  I had  wound  myself  up  to  a pitch 
of  most  daring  courage,  and  I replied,  raising  my 
voice,  “ I hope  they  will  be  words  which  I may  hear 
without  resentment.”  He  stared  hard  at  me  in  aston- 
ishment, as  though  he  had  failed  to  understand  me. 
Then,  fixing  his  eyes  gloomily  upon  the  floor,  he 
threw  his  arms  behind  his  back,  and  again  began  to 
stride  up  and  down  the  room.  He  took  down  a rifle 
and  put  the  ramrod  down  the  barrel  to  see  whether  it 
were  loaded  or  not.  My  blood  boiled  in  my  veins  ; 
grasping  my  knife,  I stepped  close  up  to  him,  so  as  to 
make  it  impossible  for  him  to  take  aim  at  me.  “That’s 
a handsome  weapon,”  he  said,  replacing  the  rifle  in  the 
corner.  I retired  a few  paces,  the  Baron  following 
me.  Slapping  me  on  the  shoulder,  perhaps  a little 
more  violently  than  was  necessary,  he  said,  “ I daresay 
I seem  to  you,  Theodore,  to  be  excited  and  irritable  ; 
and  I really  am  so,  owing  to  the  anxieties  of  a sleep- 
less night.  My  wife’s  nervous  attack  was  not  in  the 
least  dangerous  ; that  I now  see  plainly.  But  here — 
here  in  this  castle,  which  is  haunted  by  an  evil  spirit,  I 
always  dread  something  terrible  happening  ; and  then 
it’s  the  first  time  she  has  been  ill  here.  And  you — you 


THE  ENTAIL. 


265 


alone  were  to  blame  for  it.”  “How  that  can  possibly 
be  I have  not  the  slightest  conception,”  I replied 
calmly.  “ I wish,”  continued  the  Baron,  “ I wish  that 
damned  piece  of  mischief,  my  steward’s  wife’s  instru- 
ment, were  chopped  up  into  a thousand  pieces,  and 
that  you — but  no,  no  ; it  was  to  be  so,  it  was  inevitably 
to  be  so,  and  I alone  am  to  blame  for  all.  I ought  to 
have  told  you,  the  moment  you  began  to  play  music  in 
my  wife’s  room,  of  the  whole  state  of  the  case,  and  to 
have  informed  you  of  my  wife’s  temper  of  mind.”  I 
was  about  to  speak;  “Let  me  go  on,”  said  the 
Baron,  “ I must  prevent  your  forming  any  rash  judg- 
ment. You  probably  regard  me  as  an  uncultivated 
fellow,  averse  to  the  arts  ; but  I am  not  so  by  any 
means.  There  is  a particular  consideration,  however, 
based  upon  deep  conviction,  which  constrains  me  to 
forbid  the  introduction  here  as  far  as  possible  of  such 
music  as  can  powerfully  affect  any  person’s  mind,  and 
to  this  I of  course  am  no  exception.  Know  that  my 
wife  suffers  from  a morbid  excitability,  which  will 
finally  destroy  all  the  happiness  of  her  life.  Within 
these  strange  walls  she  is  never  quit  of  that  strained 
over-excited  condition,  which  at  other  times  occurs  but 
temporarily,  and  then  generally  as  the  forerunner  of  a 
serious  illness.  You  will  ask  me,  and  quite  reasonably 
too,  why  I do  not  spare  my  delicate  wife  the  necessity 
of  coming  to  live  in  this  weird  castle,  and  mix  amongst 
the  wild  confusion  of  a hunting-party.  Well,  call  it 
weakness — be  it  so  ; in  a word,  I cannot  bring  myself 
to  leave  her  behind.  I should  be  tortured  by  a thou- 
sand fears,  and  quite  incapable  of  any  serious  business, 
for  I am  perfectly  sure  that  I should  be  haunted 
everywhere,  in  the  justice-hall  as  well  as  in  the 
forest,  by  the  most  horrid  ideas  of  all  kinds  of  fatal 
mischief  happening  to  her.  And,  on  the  other  hand, 


266 


THE  ENTAIL. 


I believe  that  the  sort  of  life  led  here  cannot  fail  to 
operate  upon  the  weakly  woman  like  strengthening 
chalybeate  waters.  By  my  soul,  the  sea-breezes,  sweep- 
ing keenly  after  their  peculiar  fashion  through  the 
fir-trees,  and  the  deep  baying  of  the  hounds,  and  the 
merry  ringing  notes  of  our  hunting-horns  must  get  the 
better  of  all  your  sickly  languishing  sentimentalisings 
at  the  piano,  which  no  man  ought  play  in  that  way.  I 
tell  you,  you  are  deliberately  torturing  my  wife  to 
death.”  These  words  he  uttered  with  great  emphasis, 
whilst  his  eyes  flashed  with  a restless  fire.  The  blood 
mounted  to  my  head  ; I made  a violent  gesture  against 
the  Baron  with  my  hand  ; I was  about  to  speak,  but 
he  cut  me  short.  “ I know  what  you  are  going  to  say,” 
he  began,  “ I know  what  you  are  going  to  say,  and  I 
repeat  that  you  are  going  the  right  road  to  kill  my  wife. 
But  that  you  intended  this  I cannot  of  course  for  a 
moment  maintain  ; and  yet  you  will  understand  that  I 
must  put  a stop  to  the  thing.  In  short,  by  your  playing 
and  singing  you  work  her  up  to  a high  pitch  of  excite- 
ment, and  then,  when  she  drifts  without  anchor  and 
rudder  on  the  boundless  sea  of  dreams  and  visions  and 
vague  aspirations  which  your  music,  like  some  vile 
charm,  has  summoned  into  existence,  you  plunge  her 
down  into  the  depths  of  horror  with  a tale  about  a 
fearful  apparition  which  you  say  came  and  played 
pranks  with  you  up  in  the  justice-hall.  Your  great- 
uncle  has  told  me  everything  ; but,  pray,  repeat  to  me 
all  you  saw,  or  did  not  see,  heard,  felt,  divined  by 
instinct.” 

I braced  myself  up  and  narrated  calmly  how  every- 
thing had  happened  from  beginning  to  end,  the  Baron 
merely  interposing  at  intervals  a few  words  expressive 
of  his  astonishment.  When  I came  to  the  part  where 
my  old  uncle  had  met  the  ghost  with  trustful  courage 


THE  ENTAIL. 


267 


and  had  exorcised  him  with  a few  powerful  words,  the 
Baron  clasped  his  hands,  raised  them  folded  towards 
Heaven,  and  said  with  deep  emotion,  “Yes,  he  is  the 
guardian-angel  of  the  family.  His  mortal  remains 
shall  rest  in  the  vault  of  my  ancestors.”  When  I 
finished  my  narration,  the  Baron  murmured  to  him- 
self, “ Daniel,  Daniel,  what  are  you  doing  here  at  this 
hour?”  as  he  folded  his  arms  and  strode  up  and  down 
the  room.  “And  was  that  all,  Herr  Baron?”  I asked, 
making  a movement  as  though  I would  retire.  Start- 
ing up  as  if  out  of  a dream,  the  Baron  took  me  kindly 
by  the  hand  and  said,  “Yes,  my  good  friend,  my  wife, 
whom  you  have  dealt  so  hardly  by  without  intending 
it — you  must  cure  her  again  ; you  alone  can  do  so.” 
I felt  I was  blushing,  and  had  I stood  opposite  a mirror 
should  undoubtedly  have  seen  in  it  a very  blank  and 
absurd  face.  The  Baron  seemed  to  exult  in  my  embar- 
rassment ; he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  intently  upon  my  face, 
smiling  with  perfectly  galling  irony.  “ How  in  the 
world  can  I cure  her  ? ” I managed  to  stammer  out  at 
length  with  an  effort.  “Well,”  he  said,  interrupting 
me,  “you  have  no  dangerous  patient  to  deal  with  at 
any  rate.  I now  make  an  express  claim  upon  your 
skill.  Since  the  Baroness  has  been  drawn  into  the  en- 
chanted circle  of  your  music,  it  would  be  both  foolish 
and  cruel  to  drag  her  out  of  it  all  of  a sudden.  Go  on 
with  your  music  therefore.  You  will  always  be  wel- 
come during  the  evening  hours  in  my  wife’s  apart- 
ments. But  gradually  select  a more  energetic  kind  of 
music,  and  effect  a clever  alternation  of  the  cheerful 
sort  with  the  serious  ; and  above  all  things,  repeat  your 
story  of  the  fearful  ghost  very  very  often.  The  Baroness; 
will  grow  familiar  with  it  ; she  will  forget  that  a ghost 
haunts  this  castle  ; and  the  story  will  have  no  stronger 
effect  upon  her  than  any  other  tale  of  enchantment 


268 


THE  ENTAIL. 


which  is  put  before  her  in  a romance  or  a ghost-story 
book.  Pray,  do  this,  my  good  friend.”  With  these 
words  the  Baron  left  me.  I went  away.  I felt  as  if  I 
were  annihilated,  to  be  thus  humiliated  to  the  level  of 
a foolish  and  insignificant  child.  Fool  that  I was  to 
suppose  that  jealousy  was  stirring  his  heart ! He  him- 
self sends  me  to  Seraphina ; he  sees  in  me  only  the 
blind  instrument  which,  after  he  has  made  use  of  it,  he 
can  throw  away  if  he  thinks  well.  A few  minutes  pre- 
viously I had  really  feared  the  Baron  ; deep  down 
within  my  heart  lurked  the  consciousness  of  guilt ; but 
it  was  a consciousness  which  allowed  me  to  feel  dis- 
tinctly the  beauty  of  the  higher  life  for  which  I was 
ripe.  Now  all  had  disappeared  in  the  blackness  of 
night  ; and  I saw  only  the  stupid  boy  who  in  childish 
obstinacy  had  persisted  in  taking  the  paper  crown 
which  he  had  put  on  his  hot  temples  for  a real  golden 
one.  I hurried  away  to  my  uncle,  who  was  waiting  for 
me.  “Well,  cousin,  why  have  you  been  so  long? 
Where  have  you  been  staying  ? ” he  cried  as  soon  as  he 
saw  me.  “ I have  been  having  some  words  with  the 
Baron  ! ” I quickly'  replied,  carelessly  and  in  a low 
voice,  without  being  able  to  look  at  the  old  gentle- 
man. “ God  damn  it  all,”  said  he,  feigning  astonish- 
ment. “ Good  gracious,  boy' ! that’s  just  what  I thought. 
I suppose  the  Baron  has  challenged  y'ou,  cousin  ? ” The 
ringing  peal  of  laughter  which  the  old  gentleman  im- 
mediately afterwards  broke  out  into  taught  me  that  this 
time  too,  as  alway'S,  he  had  seen  me  through  and 
through.  I bit  my  lip,  and  durst  not  speak  a word,  for 
I knew  very  well  that  it  would  only  be  the  signal  for 
the  old  gentleman  to  overwhelm  me  beneath  the  tor- 
rent of  teasing  which  was  already  hovering  on  the  tip 
of  his  tongue. 

The  Baroness  appeared  at  the  dinner-table  in  an 


THE  ENTAIL. 


269 


elegant  morning-robe,  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  which 
exceeded  that  of  fresh-fallen  snow.  She  looked  worn 
and  low-spirited  ; but  she  began  to  speak  in  her  soft 
and  melodious  accents,  and  on  raising  her  dark  eyes 
there  shone  a sweet  and  yearning  look  full  of  aspira- 
tion in  their  voluptuous  glow,  and  a fugitive  blush 
flitted  across  her  lily-white  cheeks.  She  was  more 
beautiful  than  ever.  But  who  can  fathom  the  follies 
of  a young  man  who  has  got  too  hot  blood  in  his  head 
and  heart  ? The  bitter  pique  which  the  Baron  had 
stirred  up  within  me  I transferred  to  the  Baroness. 
The  entire  business  seemed  to  me  like  a foul  mystifica- 
tion ; and  I would  now  show  that  I was  possessed  of 
alarmingly  good  common-sense  and  also  of  extraordi- 
nary sagacity.  Like  a petulant  child,  I shunned  the 
Baroness  and  escaped  Adelheid  when  she  pursued  me, 
and  found  a place  where  I wished,  right  at  the  bottom 
end  of  the  table  between  the  two  officers,  with  whom  I 
began  to  carouse  right  merrily.  We  kept  our  glasses 
going  gaily  during  dessert,  and  I was,  as  so  frequently 
is  the  case  in  moods  like  mine,  extremely  noisy  and 
loud  in  my  joviality.  A servant  brought  me  a plate 
with  some  bonbons  on  it,  with  the  words,  “From  Lady 
Adelheid.”  I took  them  ; and  observed  on  one  of 
them,  scribbled  in  pencil,  “and  Seraphina.”  My  blood 
coursed  turmdtuously  in  my  veins.  I sent  a glance  in 
Adelheid’s  direction,  which  she  met  with  a most  sly 
and  archly  cunning  look  ; and  taking  her  glass  in  her 
hand,  she  gave  me  a slight  nod.  Almost  mechanically 
I murmured  to  myself,  “Seraphina!”  then  taking  up 
my  glass  in  my  turn,  I drained  it  at  a single  draught. 
My  glance  fell  across  in  her  direction  ; I perceived  that 
she  also  had  drunk  at  the  very  same  moment  and  was. 
setting  down  her  glass.  Our  eyes  met,  and  a malig- 
nant demon  whispered  in  my  ear,  “ Unhappy  wretch. 


270 


THE  ENTAIL. 


she  does  love  you  ! ” One  of  the  guests  now  rose,  and, 
in  conformity  with  the  custom  of  the  North,  proposed 
the  health  of  the  lady  of  the  house.  Our  glasses  rang 
in  the  midst  of  a tumult  of  joy.  My  heart  was  torn 
with  rapture  and  despair ; the  wine  burned  like  lire 
within  me  ; everything  spun  round  in  circles  ; I felt  as 
if  I must  hasten  and  throw  myself  at  her  feet  and  there 
sigh  out  my  life.  “ What’s  the  matter  with  you,  my 
friend?”  asked  my  neighbour,  thus  recalling  me  to 
myself  ; but  Seraphina  had  left  the  hall.  We  rose  from 
the  table.  I was  making  for  the  door,  but  Adelheid 
held  me  fast,  and  began  to  talk  about  divers  matters ; I 
neither  heard  nor  understood  a single  'word.  She 
grasped  both  my  hands  and,  laughing,  shouted  some- 
thing in  my  ear.  I remained  dumb  and  motionless,  as 
though  affected  by  catalepsy.  All  I remember  is  that 
I finally  took  a glass  of  liqueur  out  of  Adelheid’s  hand 
in  a mechanical  way  and  drank  it  off,  and  then  I recol- 
lect being  alone  in  a window,  and  after  that  I rushed 
out  of  the  hall,  down  the  stairs,  and  ran  out  into  the 
wood.  The  snow  was  falling  in  thick  flakes  ; the  fir- 
trees  were  moaning  as  they  waved  to  and  fro  in  the 
wind.  Like  a maniac  I ran  round  and  round  in  wide 
circles,  laughing  and  screaming  loudly,  “ Look,  look 
and  see.  Aha  ! Aha  ! The  devil  is  having  a fine  dance 
with  the  boy  who  thought  he  would  taste  of  strictly  for- 
bidden fruit  ! ” Who  can  tell  what  would  have  been 
the  end  of  my  mad  prank  if  I had  not  heard  my  name 
called  loudly  from  the  outside  of  the  wood  ? The  storm 
had  abated  ; the  moon  shone  out  brightly  through  the 
broken  clouds  ; I heard  dogs  barking,  and  perceived  a 
dark  figure  approaching  me.  It  was  the  old  man 
Francis.  “ Why,  why,  my  good  Herr  Theodore,”  he 
began,  “you  have  quite  lost  your  way  in  the  rough 
snow-storm.  The  Herr  Justitiarius  is  awaiting  you 


THE  ENTAIL. 


271 


with  much  impatience.”  I followed  the  old  man  in 
silence.  I found  my  great-uncle  working  in  the  justice- 
hall.  “You  have  done  well,”  he  cried,  on  seeing  me, 
“ you  have  done  a very  wise  thing  to  go  out  in  the  open 
air  a little  and  get  cool.  But  don't  drink  quite  so  much 
wine  ; you  are  far  too  young,  and  it’s  not  good  for  you.” 
I did  not  utter  a word  in  reply,  and  also  took  my  place 
at  the  table  in  silence.  “ But  now  tell  me,  good 
cousin,  what  it  was  the  Baron  really  wanted  you  for  ? ” 
I told  him  all,  and  concluded  by  stating  that  I would 
not  lend  myself  for  the  doubtful  cure  which  the  Baron 
had  proposed.  “ And  it  would  not  be  practicable,”  the 
old  gentleman  interrupted,  “for  to-morrow  morning 
early  we  set  off  home,  cousin.”  And  so  it  wrns  that  I 
never  saw  Seraphina  again. 

As  soon  as  we  arrived  in  K my  old  uncle  com- 

plained that  he  felt  the  effects  of  the  wearying  journey 
this  time  more  than  ever.  His  moody  silence,  broken 
only  by  violent  outbreaks  of  the  worst  possible  ill- 
humour,  announced  the  return  of  his  attacks  of  gout. 
One  day  I was  suddenly  called  in  ; I found  the  old 
gentleman  confined  to  his  bed  and  unable  to  speak, 
suffering  from  a paralytic  stroke.  He  held  a letter  in 
his  hand,  which  he  had  crumpled  up  tightly  in  a spas- 
modic fit.  I recognised  the  hand-writing  of  the  land- 
steward  of  R — sitten  ; but,  quite  upset  by  my  trouble, 
I did  not  venture  to  take  the  letter  out  of  the  old  gen- 
tleman’s hand.  I did  not  doubt  that  his  end  was  near. 
But  his  pulse  began  to  beat  again,  even  before  the 
physician  arrived  ; the  old  gentleman’s  remarkably 
tough  constitution  resisted  the  mortal  attack,  although 
he  was  in  his  seventieth  yean  That  selfsame  day  the 
doctor  pronounced  him  out  of  danger. 

We  had  a more  severe  winter  than  usual ; this  was 
followed  by  a rough  and  stormy  spring  ; and  hence  it 


272 


THE  ENTAIL. 


was  more  the  gout — a consequence  of  the  inclemency 
of  the  season — than  his  previous  accident  which  kept 
him  for  a long  time  confined  to  his  bed.  During  this 
period  he  made  up  his  mind  to  retire  altogether  from 
all  kinds  of  business.  He  transferred  his  office  of 
Justitiarius  to  others  ; and  so  I was  cut  off  from  all 
hope  of  ever  again  going  to  R — sitten.  The  old  gentle- 
man would  allow  no  one  to  attend  him  but  me  ; and  it 
was  to  me  alone  that  he  looked  for  all  amusement  and 
every  cheerful  diversion.  And  though,  in  the  hours 
when  he  was  free  from  pain,  his  good  spirits  returned, 
and  he  had  no  lack  of  broad  jests,  even  making  mention 
of  hunting  exploits,  so  that  I fully  expected  ever)' 
minute  to  hear  him  make  a butt  of  my  heroic  deed, 
when  I had  killed  the  wolf  with  my  whinger,  yet  never 
once  did  he  allude  to  our  visit  to  R — sitten,  and  as  may 
well  be  imagined,  I was  very  careful,  from  natural  shy- 
ness, not  to  lead  him  directly  up  to  the  subject.  My 
harassing  anxiety  and  continual  attendance  upon  the 
old  gentleman  had  thrust  Seraphina’s  image  into  the 
background.  But  as  soon  as  his  sickness  abated  some- 
what, my  thoughts  returned  with  more  liveliness  to  that 
moment  in  the  Baroness’s  room,  which  I now  looked 
upon  as  a star — a bright  star — that  had  set,  for  me  at 
least,  for  ever.  An  occurrence  which  now  happened, 
by  making  me  shudder  with  an  ice-cold  thrill  as  at  sight 
of  a visitant  from  the  world  of  spirits,  revived  all  the 
pain  I had  formerly  felt.  One  evening,  as  I was  open- 
ing the  pocket-book  which  I had  carried  whilst  at 
R — sitten,  there  fell  out  of  the  papers  I was  unfolding 
a dark  curl,  wrapped  about  with  a white  ribbon  ; I im- 
mediately recognised  it  as  Seraphina’s  hair.  But,  on 
examining  the  ribbon  more  closely,  I distinctly  per- 
ceived the  mark  of  a spot  of  blood  on  it ! Perhaps 
Adelheid  had  skilfully  contrived  to  secrete  it  about  me 


THE  ENTAIL. 


273 


during  the  moments  of  conscious  insanity  by  which  I 
had  been  affected  during  the  last  days  of  our  visit ; but 
why  was  the  spot  of  blood  there  ? It  excited  fore- 
bodings of  something  terrible  in  my  mind,  and  almost 
converted  this  too  pastoral  love-token  into  an  awful 
admonition,  pointing  to  a passion  which  might  entail 
the  expenditure  of  precious  blood.  It  was  the  same 
white  ribbon  that  had  fluttered  about  me  in  light  wan- 
ton sportiveness  as  it  were  the  first  time  I sat  near 
Seraphina,  and  which  Mysterious  Night  had  stamped 
as  an  emblem  of  mortal  injury.  Boys  ought  not  to  play 
with  weapons  with  the  dangerous  properties  of  which 
they  are  not  familiar. 

At  last  the  storms  of  spring  had  ceased  to  bluster, 
and  summer  asserted  her  rights  ; and  if  the  cold  had 
formerly  been  unbearable,  so  now  too  was  the  heat 
when  July  came  in.  The  old  gentleman  visibly  gathered 
strength,  and  following  his  usual  custom,  went  out  to  a 
garden  in  the  suburbs.  One  still,  warm  evening,  as  we 
sat  in  the  sweet-smelling  jasmine  arbour,  he  was  in  un- 
usually good  spirits,  and  not,  as  was  generally  the  case, 
overflowing  with  sarcasm  and  irony,  but  in  a gentle  and 
almost  soft  and  melting  mood.  “ Cousin,”  he  began, 
“ I don’t  know  how  it  is,  but  I feel  so  nice  and  warm 
and  comfortable  all  over  to-day  ; I have  not  felt  like  it 
for  many  years.  I believe  it  is  an  augury  that  I shall 
die  soon.”  I exerted  myself  to  drive  these  gloomy 
thoughts  from  his  mind.  “ Never  mind,  cousin,”  he 
said,  “ in  any  case  I’m  not  long  for  this  world  ; and  so  I 
will  now  discharge  a debt  I owe  you.  Do  you  still  re- 
member our  autumn  in  R — sitten?”  This  question 
thrilled  through  me  like  a lightning-flash,  so  before  I 
was  able  to  make  any  reply  he  continued,  “ It  was 
Heaven’s  will  that  your  entrance  into  that  castle  should 
be  signalised  by  memorable  circumstances,  and  that 


274 


THE  ENTAIL. 


you  should  become  involved  against  your  own  will  in 
the  deepest  secrets  of  the  house.  The  time  has  now 
come  when  you  must  learn  all.  We  have  often  enough 
talked  about  things  which  you,  cousin,  rather  dimly 
guessed  at  than  really  understood.  In  the  alternation 
of  the  seasons  nature  represents  symbolically  the  cycle 
of  human  life.  That  is  a trite  remark  ; but  I interpret 
it  differently  from  everybody  else.  The  dews  of  spring 
fall,  summer’s  vapours  fade  away,  and  it  is  the  pure  at- 
mosphere of  autumn  which  clearly  reveals  the  distant 
landscape,  and  then  finally  earthly  existence  is  swal- 
lowed in  the  night  of  winter.  I mean  that  the  govern- 
ment of  the  Power  Inscrutable  is  more  plainly  revealed 
in  the  clear-sightedness  of  old  age.  It  is  granted 
glimpses  of  the  promised  land,  the  pilgrimage  to  which 
begins  with  the  death  on  earth.  How  clearly  do  I see 
at  this  moment  the  dark  destiny  of  that  house,  to  which 
I am  knit  by  firmer  ties  than  blood  relationship  can 
weave  ! Everything  lies  disclosed  to  the  eyes  of  my 
spirit.  And  yet  the  things  which  I now  see,  in  the  form 
in  which  I see  them — the  essential  substance  of  them, 
that  is — this  I cannot  tell  you  in  words  ; for  no  man’s 
tongue  is  able  to  do  so.  But  listen,  my  son,  I will  tell 
you  as  well  as  I am  able,  and  do  you  think  it  is  some 
remarkable  story  that  might  really  happen ; and  lay  up 
carefully  in  your  soul  the  knowledge  that  the  mysteri- 
ous relations  into  which  you  ventured  to  enter,  not  per- 
haps without  being  summoned,  might  have  ended  in 
your  destruction — but — that’s  all  over  now.” 

The  history  of  the  R entail,  which  my  old  uncle 

told  me,  I retain  so  faithfully  in  my  memory  even  now 
that  I can  almost  repeat  it  in  his  own  words  (he  spoke 
of  himself  in  the  third  person). 

One  stormy  night  in  the  autumn  of  1760  the  servants 
of  R — sitten  were  startled  out  of  the  midst  of  their 


THE  ENTAIL. 


275 


sleep  by  a terrific  crash,  as  if  the  whole  of  the  spacious 
castle  had  tumbled  into  a thousand  pieces.  In  a mo- 
ment everybody  was  on  his  legs  ; lights  were  lit  ; the 
house-steward,  his  face  deadly  pale  with  fright  and 
terror,  came  up  panting  with  his  keys;  but  as  they  pro- 
ceeded through  the  passages  and  halls  and  rooms,  suite 
after  suite,  and  found  all  safe,  and  heard  in  the  appall- 
ing silence  nothing  except  the  creaking  rattle  of  the 
locks,  which  occasioned  some  difficulty  in  opening,  and 
the  ghost-like  echo  of  their  own  footsteps,  they  began 
one  and  all  to  be  utterly  astounded.  Nowhere  was  there 
the  least  trace  of  damage.  The  old  house-steward 
was  impressed  by  an  ominous  feeling  of  apprehen- 
sion. He  went  up  into  the  great  Knight’s  Hall,  which 
had  a small  cabinet  adjoining  where  Freiherr  Roderick 

von  R used  to  sleep  when  engaged  in  making  his 

astronomical  observations.  Between  the  door  of  this 
cabinet  and  that  of  a second  was  a postern,  leading 
through  a narrow  passage  immediately  into  the  astro- 
nomical tower.  But  directly  Daniel  (that  was  the 
house-steward’s  name)  opened  this  postern,  the  storm, 
blustering  and  howling  terrifically,  drove  a heap  of 
rubbish  and  broken  pieces  of  stones  all  over  him,  which 
made  him  recoil  in  terror  ; and,  dropping  the  candles, 
which  went  out  with  a hiss  on  the  floor,  he  screamed, 
“ O God  ! O God  ! The  Baron  ! he’s  miserably  dashed 
to  pieces  ! ” At  the  same  moment  he  heard  sounds  of 
lamentation  proceeding  from  the  Freiherr’s  sleeping- 
cabinet,  and  on  entering  it  he  saw  the  servants  gathered 
around  their  master’s  corpse.  They  had  found  him 
fully  dressed  and  more  magnificently  than  on  any  pre- 
vious occasion,  and  with  a calm  earnest  look  upon  his 
unchanged  countenance,  sitting  in  his  large  and  richly 
decorated  arm-chair  as  though  resting  after  severe 
study.  But  his  rest  was  the  rest  of  death.  When  day 


276 


THE  ENTAIL. 


dawned  it  was  seen  that  the  crowning  turret  of  the 
tower  had  fallen  in.  The  huge  square  stones  had 
broken  through  the  ceiling  and  floor  of  the  observatory- 
room,  and  then,  carrying  down  in  front  of  them  a pow- 
erful beam  that  ran  across  the  tower,  they  had  dashed 
in  with  redoubled  impetus  the  lower  vaulted  roof,  and 
dragged  down  a portion  of  the  castle  walls  and  of  the 
narrow  connecting-passage.  Not  a single  step  could 
be  taken  beyond  the  postern  threshold  without  risk  of 
falling  at  least  eighty  feet  into  a deep  chasm. 

The  old  Freiherr  had  forseen  the  very  hour  of  his 
death,  and  had  sent  intelligence  of  it  to  his  sons. 
Hence  it  happened  that  the  very  next  day  saw  the 

arrival  of  Wolfgang,  Freiherr  von  R , eldest  son 

of  the  deceased,  and  now  lord  of  the  entail.  Relying 
confidently  upon  the  probable  truth  of  the  old  man’s 
foreboding,  he  had  left  Vienna,  which  city  he  chanced 
to  have  reached  in  his  travels,  immediately  he  received 
the  ominous  letter,  and  hastened  to  R — sitten  as  fast 
as  he  could  travel.  The  house-steward  had  draped 
the  great  hall  in  black,  and  had  had  the  old  Freiherr 
laid  out  in  the  clothes  in  which  he  had  been  found,  on 
a magnificent  state-bed,  and  this  he  had  surrounded 
with  tall  silver  candlesticks  with  burning  wax-candles. 
Wolfgang  ascended  the  stairs,  entered  the  hall,  and 
approached  close  to  his  father’s  corpse,  without  speak- 
ing a word.  There  he  stood  with  his  arms  folded  on 
his  chest,  gazing  with  a fixed  and  gloomy  look  and 
with  knitted  brows,  into  his  father’s  pale  countenance. 
He  was  like  a statue  ; not  a tear  came  from  his  eyes. 
At  length,  with  an  almost  convulsive  movement  of  the 
right  arm  towards  the  corpse,  he  murmured  hoarsely, 
“ Did  the  stars  compel  you  to  make  the  son  whom  you 
loved  miserable  ? ” Throwing  his  hands  behind  his 
back  and  stepping  a short  pace  backwards,  the  Baron 


THE  ENTAIL. 


277 


raised  his  eyes  upwards  and  said  in  a low  and  well-nigh 
broken  voice,  “ Poor,  infatuated  old  man  ! Your  car- 
nival farce  with  its  shallow  delusions  is  now  over. 
Now  you  no  doubt  see  that  the  possessions  which  are 
so  niggardly  dealt  out  to  us  here  on  earth  have  nothing 
in  common  with  Hereafter  beyond  the  stars.  What 
will — what  power  can  reach  over  beyond  the  grave  ? ” 
The  Baron  was  silent  again  for  some  seconds,  then  he 
cried  passionately,  “ No,  your  perversity  shall  not  rob 
me  of  a grain  of  my  earthly  happiness,  which  you 
strove  so  hard  to  destroy,”  and  therewith  he  took  a 
folded  paper  out  of  his  pocket  and  held  it  up  between 
two  fingers  to  one  of  the  burning  candles  that  stood 
close  beside  the  corpse.  The  paper  was  caught  by 
the  flame  and  blazed  up  high  ; and  as  the  reflection 
flickered  and  played  upon  the  face  of  the  corpse,  it 
was  as  though  its  muscles  moved  and  as  though  the 
old  man  uttered  toneless  words,  so  that  the  servants 
who  stood  some  distance  off  were  filled  with  great 
horror  and  awe.  The  Baron  calmly  finished  what  he 
was  doing  by  carefully  stamping  out  with  his  foot  the 
last  fragment  of  paper  that  fell  on  the  floor  blazing. 
Then,  casting  yet  another  moody  glance  upon  his 
father,  he  hurriedly  left  the  hall. 

On  the  following  day  Daniel  reported  to  the  Freiherr 
the  damage  that  had  been  done  to  the  tower,  and  de- 
scribed at  great  length  all  that  had  taken  place  on  the 
night  when  their  dear  dead  master  died  ; and  he  con- 
cluded by  saying  that  it  would  be  a very  wise  thing  to 
have  the  tower  repaired  at  once,  for,  if  a further  fall 
were  to  take  place,  there  would  be  some  danger  of  the 
whole  castle — well,  if  not  tumbling  down,  at  any  rate 
suffering  serious  damage. 

“ Repair  the  tower  ? ” the  Freiherr  interrupted  the 
old  servant  curtly,  whilst  his  eyes  flashed  with  anger, 


278 


THE  ENTAIL. 


“ Repair  the  tower  ? Never,  never  ! Don’t  you  see, 
old  man,”  he  went  on  more  calmly,  “ don't  you  see  that 
the  tower  could  not  fall  in  this  way  without  some  spe- 
cial cause  ? How  if  it  was  my  father’s  own  wish  that 
the  place  where  he  carried  on  his  unhallowed  astrolog- 
ical labours  should  be  destroyed — how  if  he  had  him- 
self made  certain  preparations  by  which  he  was  en- 
abled to  bring  down  the  turret  whenever  he  pleased 
and  so  occasion  the  ruin  of  the  interior  of  the  tower  ! 
But  be  that  as  it  may.  And  if  the  whole  castle  tumbles 
down,  I shan’t  care  ; I shall  be  glad.  Do  you  imagine 
I am  going  to  dwell  in  this  weird  owls’  nest  ? No  ; my 
wise  ancestor  who  had  the  foundations  of  a new  castle 
laid  in  the  beautiful  valley  yonder — he  has  begun  a 
work  which  I intend  to  finish.”  Daniel  said  crestfallen, 
“ Then  will  all  your  faithful  old  servants  have  to  take 
up  their  bundles  and  go  ? ” “ That  I am  not  going  to 

be  waited  upon  by  helpless,  weak-kneed  old  fellows 
like  you  is  quite  certain  ; but  for  all  that  I shall  turn 
none  away.  You  may  all  enjoy  the  bread  of  charity 
without  working  for  it.”  “ And  am  I,”  cried  the  old 
man,  greatly  hurt,  “ am  I,  the  house-steward,  to  be 
forced  to  lead  such  a life  of  inactivity  ? ” Then  the 
Freiherr,  who  had  turned  his  back  upon  the  old  man 
and  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  wheeled  suddenly 
round,  his  face  perfectly  ablaze  with  passion,  strode  up 
to  the  old  man  as  he  stretched  out  his  doubled  fist 
towards  him,  and  shouted  in  a thundering  voice,  “ You, 
you  hypocritical  old  villain,  it’s  you  who  helped  my  old 
father  in  his  unearthly  practices  up  yonder  ; you  lay 
upon  his  heart  like  a vampire  ; and  perhaps  it  was  you 
who  basely  took  advantage  of  the  old  man’s  mad  folly 
to  plant  in  his  mind  those  diabolical  ideas  which 
brought  me  to  the  brink  of  ruin.  I ought,  I tell  you, 
to  kick  you  out  like  a mangy  cur.”  The  old  man  was 


THE  ENTAIL. 


279 


so  terrified  at  these  harsh  terrible  words  that  he  threw 
himself  upon  his  knees  beside  the  Freiherr  ; but  the 
Baron,  as  he  spoke  these  last  words,  threw  forward  his 
right  foot,  perhaps  quite  unintentionally  (as  is  fre- 
quently the  case  in  anger,  when  the  body  mechanically 
obeys  the  mind,  and  what  is  in  the  thought  is  imita- 
tively  realised  in  action)  and  hit  the  old  man  so  hard 
on  the  chest  that  he  rolled  over  with  a stifled  scream. 
Rising  painfully  to  his  feet  and  uttering  a most  singu- 
lar sound,  like  the  howling  whimper  of  an  animal 
wounded  to  death,  he  looked  the  Freiherr  through  and 
through  with  a look  that  glared  with  mingled  rage  and 
despair.  The  purse  of  money  which  the  Freiherr  threw 
down  as  he  went  out  of  the  room,  the  old  man  left 
lying  on  the  floor  where  it  fell. 

Meanwhile  all  the  nearest  relatives  of  the  family 
who  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  had  arrived,  and  the 
old  Freiherr  was  interred  with  much  pomp  in  the 
family  vault  in  the  church  at  R — sitten  ; and  now, 
after  the  invited  guests  had  departed,  the  new  lord  of 
the  entail  appeared  to  shake  off  his  gloomy  mood,  and 
to  be  prepared  to  duly  enjoy  the  property  that  had 

fallen  to  him.  Along  with  V , the  old  Freiherr’s 

Justitiarius,  who  won  his  full  confidence  in  the  very 
first  interview  they  had,  and  who  was  at  once  con- 
firmed in  his  office,  the  Baron  made  an  exact  calcula- 
tion of  his  sources  of  income,  and  considered  how  large 
a part  he  could  devote  to  making  improvements  and 

how  large  a part  to  building  a new  castle.  V was 

of  opinion  that  the  old  Freiherr  could  not  possibly 
have  spent  all  his  income  every  year,  and  that  there 
must  certainly  be  money  concealed  somewhere,  since 
he  had  found  nothing  amongst  his  papers  except  one 
or  two  bank-notes  for  insignificant  sums,  and  the 
ready-money  in  the  iron  safe  was  but  very  little  more 


28o 


THE  ENTAIL. 


than  a thousand  thalers,  or  about  ,£150.  Who  would 
be  so  likely  to  know  anything  about  it  as  Daniel,  who 
in  his  obstinate  self-willed  way  was  perhaps  only  wait- 
ing to  be  asked  about  it  ? The  Baron  was  now  not  a 
little  concerned  at  the  thought  that  Daniel,  whom  he 
had  so  grossly  insulted,  might  let  large  sums  moulder 
somewhere  sooner  than  discover  them  to  him,  not  so 
much,  of  course,  from  any  motives  of  self-interest, — 
for  of  what  use  could  even  the  largest  sum  of  money 
be  to  him,  a childless  old  man,  whose  only  wish  was  to 
end  his  days  in  the  castle  of  R — sitten  ? — as  from  a 
desire  to  take  vengeance  for  the  affront  put  upon  him. 

He  gave  V a circumstantial  account  of  the  entire 

scene  with  Daniel,  and  concluded  by  saying  that  from 
several  items  of  information  communicated  to  him  he 
had  learned  that  it  was  Daniel  alone  who  had  con- 
trived to  nourish  in  the  old  Freiherr’s  mind  such 
an  inexplicable  aversion  to  ever  seeing  his  sons  in 
R — sitten.  The  Justitiarius  declared  that  this  infor- 

mation was  perfectly  false,  since  there  was  not  a human 
creature  on  the  face  of  the  earth  who  would  have  been 
able  to  guide  the  Freiherr’s  thoughts  in  any  way, 
far  less  determine  them  for  him  ; and  he  undertook 
finally  to  draw  from  Daniel  the  secret,  if  he  had  one,  as 
to  the  place  in  which  they  would  be  likely  to  find 
money  concealed.  His  task  proved  far  easier  than  he 
had  anticipated,  for  no  sooner  did  he  begin,  “ But  how 
comes  it,  Daniel,  that  your  old  master  has  left  so  little 
ready-money  ? ” than  Daniel  replied,  with  a repulsive 
smile,  “ Do  you  mean  the  few  trifling  thalers,  Herr 
Justitiarius,  which  you  found  in  the  little  strong  box  ? 
Oh  ! the  rest  is  lying  in  the  vault  beside  our  gracious 
master’s  sleeping-cabinet.  But  the  best,”  he  went  on 
to  say,  whilst  his  smile  passed  over  into  an  abominable 
grin,  and  his  eyes  flashed  with  malicious  fire,  “but  the 


THE  ENTAIL. 


281 

best  of  all — several  thousand  gold  pieces — lies  buried 
at  the  bottom  of  the  chasm  beneath  the  ruins.”  The 
Justitiarius  at  once  summoned  the  Freiherr  ; they  pro- 
ceeded there,  and  then  into  the  sleeping-cabinet,  where 
Daniel  pushed  aside  the  wainscot  in  one  of  the  corners, 
and  a small  lock  became  visible.  Whilst  the  Freiherr 
was  regarding  the  polished  lock  with  covetous  eyes, 
and  making  preparations  to  try  and  unlock  it  with  the 
keys  of  the  great  bunch  which  he  dragged  with  some 
difficulty  out  of  his  pocket,  Daniel  drew  himself  up  to 
his  full  height,  and  looked  down  with  almost  malig- 
nant pride  upon  his  master,  who  had  now  stooped 
down  in  order  to  see  the  lock  better.  Daniel’s  face 
was  deadly  pale,  and  he  said,  his  voice  trembling,  “ If 
I am  a dog,  my  lord  Freiherr,  I have  also  at  least  a 
dog’s  fidelity.”  Therewith  he  held  out  a bright  steel 
key  to  his  master,  who  greedily  snatched  it  out  of  his 
hand,  and  with  it  he  easily  succeeded  in  opening  the 
door.  They  stepped  into  a small  and  low-vaulted  apart- 
ment, in  which  stood  a large  iron  coffer  with  the  lid 
open,  containing  many  money-bags,  upon  which  lay  a 
strip  of  parchment,  written  in  the  old  Freiherr’s  famil- 
iar handwriting,  large  and  old-fashioned. 

One  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  Imperial  thalers 
in  old  Fredericks  cT  or'  money  saved  from  the  reve- 
nues of  the  estate-tail  of  R — sitten  ; this  sum  has 
been  set  aside  for  the  building  of  the  castle.  Fur- 
ther, the  lord  of  the  entail  who  succeeds  me  in  the 
possession  of  this  money  shall,  upon  the  highest 
hill  situated  eastward  from  the  old  tower  of  the  cas- 
tle (which  he  will  find  in  ruins),  erect  a high  beacon- 

1 Imperial  thalers  varied  in  value  at  different  times,  but  estimating 
their  value  at  three  shillings,  the  sum  here  mentioned  would  be  equiv- 
alent to  about  £22, 500.  A Frederick  d' or  was  a gold  coin  worth  five 
thalers. 


282 


THE  ENTAIL. 


tower  for  the  benefit  of  mariners,  and  cause  a fire 
to  be  kindled  on  it  every  night.  R — sitten,  on 
Michaelmas  Eve  of  the  year  1760. 

Roderick,  Freiherr  von  R. 

The  Freiherr  lifted  up  the  bags  one  after  the  other 
and  let  them  fall  again  into  the  coffer,  delighted  at  the 
ringing  clink  of  so  much  gold  coin  ; then  he  turned 
round  abruptly  to  the  old  house-steward,  thanked  him 
for  the  fidelity  he  had  shown,  and  assured  him  that  they 
were  only  vile  tattling  calumnies  which  had  induced 
him  to  treat  him  so  harshly  in  the  first  instance.  He 
should  not  only  remain  in  the  castle,  but  should  also 
continue  to  discharge  his  duties,  uncurtailed  in  any  way, 
as  house-steward,  and  at  double  the  wages  he  was  then 
having.  “ I owe  you  a large  compensation  ; if  you  will 
take  money,  help  yourself  to  one  of  these  bags.”  As 
he  concluded  with  these  words,  the  Baron  stood  before 
the  old  man,  with  his  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground,  and 
pointed  to  the  coffer  ; then,  approaching  it  again,  he 
once  more  ran  his  eyes  over  the  bags.  A burning  flush 
suddenly  mounted  into  the  old  house-steward’s  cheeks, 
and  he  uttered  that  awful  howling  whimper — a noise  as 
of  an  animal  wounded  to  death,  according  to  the  Frei- 
herr’s previous  description  of  it  to  the  Justitiarius.  The 
latter  shuddered,  for  the  words  which  the  old  man  mur- 
mured between  his  teeth  sounded  like,  “ Blood  for 
gold.”  Of  all  this  the  Freiherr,  absorbed  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  treasure  before  him,  had  heard  not 
the  least.  Daniel  tottered  in  every  limb,  as  if  shaken 
by  an  ague  fit  ; approaching  the  Freiherr  with  bowed 
head  in  a humble  attitude,  he  kissed  his  hand,  and 
drawing  his  handkerchief  across  his  eyes  under  the  pre- 
tence of  wiping  away  his  tears,  said  in  a whining  voice, 
“ Alas  ! my  good  and  gracious  master,  what  am  I,  a poor 


THE  ENTAIL. 


283 


childless  old  man,  to  do  with  money?  But  the  doubled 
wages  I accept  with  gladness,  and  will  continue  to  do 
my  duty  faithfully  and  zealously.” 

The  Freiherr,  who  had  paid  no  particular  heed  to  the 
old  man’s  words,  now  let  the  heavy  lid  of  the  coffer 
fall  to  with  a bang,  so  that  the  whole  room  shook  and 
cracked,  and  then,  locking  the  coffer  and  carefully 
withdrawing  the  key,  he  said  carelessly,  “Very  well, 
very  well,  old  man.”  But  after  they  entered  the  hall 
he  went  on  talking  to  Daniel,  “ But  you  said  something 
about  a quantity  of  gold  pieces  buried  underneath  the 
ruins  of  the  tower?”  Silently  the  old  man  stepped 
towards  the  postern,  and  after  some  difficulty  unlocked 
it.  But  so  soon  as  he  threw  it  open  the  storm  drove  a 
thick  mass  of  snow-flakes  into  the  hall  ; a raven  was 
disturbed  and  flew  in  croaking  and  screaming  and 
dashed  with  its  black  wings  against  the  window,  but 
regaining  the  open  postern  it  disappeared  downwards 
into  the  chasm.  The  Freiherr  stepped  out  into  the 
corridor  ; but  one  single  glance  downwards,  and  he 
started  back  trembling.  “A  fearful  sight ! — I’m  giddy!” 
he  stammered  as  he  sank  almost  fainting  into  the 
Justitiarius’  arms.  But  quickly  recovering  himself  by 
an  effort,  he  fixed  a sharp  look  upon  the  old  man  and 
asked,  “Down  there,  you  say?”  Meanwhile  the  old 
man  had  been  locking  the  postern,  and  was  now 
leaning  against  it  with  all  his  bodily  strength,  and  was 
gasping  and  grunting  to  get  the  great  key  out  of  the 
rusty  lock.  This  at  last  accomplished,  he  turned 
round  to  the  Baron,  and,  changing  the  huge  key  about 
backwards  and  forwards  in  his  hands,  replied  with  a 
peculiar  smile,  “Yes,  there  are  thousands  and  thou- 
sands down  there — all  my  dear  dead  master’s  beau- 
tiful instruments — telescopes,  quadrants,  globes,  dark 
mirrors,  they  all  lie  smashed  to  atoms  underneath  the 


284 


THE  ENTAIL. 


ruins  between  the  stones  and  the  big  balk.”  “ But 
money — coined  money,”  interrupted  the  Baron,  “you 
spoke  of  gold  pieces,  old  man?”  “I  only  meant  things 
which  had  cost  several  thousand  gold  pieces,”  he 
replied  ; and  not  another  word  could  be  got  out  of 
him. 

The  Baron  appeared  highly  delighted  to  have  all  at 
once  come  into  possession  of  all  the  means  requisite 
for  carrying  out  his  favourite  plan,  namely,  that  of 
building  a new  and  magnificent  castle.  The  Justitiarius 
indeed  stated  it  as  his  opinion  that,  according  to  the 
will  of  the  deceased,  the  money  could  only  be  applied 
to  the  repair  and  complete  finishing  of  the  interior  of 
the  old  castle,  and  further,  any  new  erection  would 
hardly  succeed  in  equalling  the  commanding  size  and 
the  severe  and  simple  character  of  the  old  ancestral 
castle.  The  Freiherr,  however,  persisted  in  his  inten- 
tion, and  maintained  that  in  the  disposal  of  property 
respecting  which  nothing  was  stated  in  the  deeds  of 
the  entail  the  irregular  will  of  the  deceased  could  have 
no  validity.  He  at  the  same  time  led  V to  under- 

stand that  he  should  conceive  it  to  be  his  duty  to 
embellish  R — sitten  as  far  as  the  climate,  soil,  and 
environs  would  permit,  for  it  was  his  intention  to  bring 
home  shortly  as  his  dearly  loved  wife  a lady  who  was 
in  every  respect  worthy  of  the  greatest  sacrifices. 

The  air  of  mystery  with  which  the  Freiherr  spoke 
of  this  alliance,  which  possibly  had  been  already  con- 
summated in  secret,  cut  short  all  further  questions 
from  the  side  of  the  Justitiarius.  Nevertheless  he 
found  in  it  to  some  extent  a redeeming  feature,  for  the 
Freiherr’s  eager  grasping  after  riches  now  appeared  to 
be  due  not  so  much  to  avarice  strictly  speaking  as  to 
the  desire  to  make  one  dear  to  him  forget  the  more 
beautiful  countrv  she  was  relinquishing  for  his  sake. 


THE  ENTAIL. 


285 


Otherwise  he  could  not  acquit  the  Baron  of  being 
avaricious,  or  at  any  rate  insufferably  close-fisted, 
seeing  that,  even  though  rolling  in  money  and  even 
when  gloating  over  the  old  Fredericks  For,  he  could 
not  help  bursting  out  with  the  peevish  grumble,  “ I 
know  the  old  rascal  has  concealed  from  us  the  greatest 
part  of  his  wealth,  but  next  spring  I will  have  the  ruins 
of  the  tower  turned  over  under  my  own  eyes.” 

The  Freiherr  had  architects  come,  and  discussed 
with  them  at  great  length  what  would  be  the  most 
convenient  way  to  proceed  with  his  castle-building. 
He  rejected  one  drawing  after  another  ; in  none  of 
them  was  the  style  of  architecture  sufficiently  rich  and 
grandiose.  He  now  began  to  draw  plans  himself,  and, 
inspirited  by  this  employment,  which  constantly  placed 
before  his  eyes  a sunny  picture  of  the  happiest  future, 
brought  himself  into  such  a genial  humour  that  it 
often  bordered  on  wild  exuberance  of  spirits,  and  even 
communicated  itself  to  all  about  him.  His  gener- 
osity and  profuse  hospitality  belied  all  imputations  of 
avarice  at  any  rate.  Daniel  also  seemed  to  have  now 
forgotten  the  insult  that  had  been  put  upon  him. 
Towards  the  Freiherr,  although  often  followed  by  him 
with  mistrustful  eyes  on  account  of  the  treasure  buried 
in  the  chasm,  his  bearing  was  both  quiet  and  humble. 
But  what  struck  everybody  as  extraordinary  was  that 
the  old  man  appeared  to  grow  younger  from  day  to 
day.  Possibly  this  might  be,  because  he  had  begun  to 
forget  his  grief  for  his  old  master,  which  had  stricken 
him  sore,  and  possibly  also  because  he  had  not  now, 
as  he  once  had,  to  spend  the  cold  nights  in  the  tower 
without  sleep,  and  got  better  food  and  good  wine  such 
as  he  liked  ; but  whatever  the  cause  might  be,  the  old 
greybeard  seemed  to  be  growing  into  a vigorous  man 
with  red  cheeks  and  well-nourished  body,  who  could 


286 


THE  ENTAIL. 


walk  firmly  and  laugh  loudly  whenever  he  heard  a jest 
to  laugh  at. 

The  pleasant  tenor  of  life  at  R — sitten  was  disturbed 
by  the  arrival  of  a man  whom  one  would  have  judged 
to  be  quite  in  his  element  there.  This  was  Wolfgang’s 
younger  brother  Hubert,  at  the  sight  of  whom  Wolf- 
gang had  screamed  out,  with  his  face  as  pale  as  a 
corpse’s,  “Unhappy  wretch,  what  do  you  want  here  ?’’ 
Hubert  threw  himself  into  his  brother’s  arms,  but 
Wolfgang  took  him  and  led  him  away  up  to  a retired 
room,  where  he  locked  himself  in  with  him.  They 
remained  closeted  several  hours,  at  the  end  of  which 
time  Hubert  came  down,  greatly  agitated,  and  called 
for  his  horses.  The  Justitiarius  intercepted  him  ; 

Hubert  tried  to  pass  him  ; but  V , inspired  by 

the  hope  that  he  might  perhaps  stifle  in  the  bud 
what  might  else  end  in  a bitter  life-long  quarrel  be- 
tween the  brothers,  besought  him  to  stay,  at  least  a 
few  hours,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  Freiherr  came 
down  calling,  “Stay  here,  Hubert!  you  will  think 
better  of  it.”  Hubert’s  countenance  cleared  up  ; he 
assumed  an  air  of  composure,  and  quickly  pulling  off 
his  costly  fur  coat,  and  throwing  it  to  a servant  behind 

him,  he  grasped  V ’s  hand  and  went  with  him 

into  the  room,  saying  with  a scornful  smile,  “ So  the 
lord  of  the  entail  will  tolerate  my  presence  here,  it 
seems.”  V thought  that  the  unfortunate  mis- 

understanding would  assuredly  be  smoothed  away 
now,  for  it  was  only  separation  and  existence  apart 
from  each  other  that  would,  he  conceived,  be  able  to 
foster  it.  Hubert  took  up  the  steel  tongs  which  stood 
near  the  fire-grate,  and  as  he  proceeded  to  break  up 
a knotty  piece  of  wood  that  would  only  sweal,  not 
burn,  and  to  rake  the  fire  together  better,  he  said  to 
V , “You  see  what  a good-natured  fellow  I am, 


THE  ENTAIL. 


287 


Herr  Justitiarius,  and  that  I am  skilful  in  all  domestic 
matters.  But  Wolfgang  is  full  of  the  most  extra- 
ordinary prejudices,  and — a bit  of  a miser.”  V — — 
did  not  deem  it  advisable  to  attempt  to  fathom  further 
the  relations  between  the  brothers,  especially  as  Wolf- 
gang’s face  and  conduct  and  voice  plainly  showed  that 
he  was  shaken  to  the  very  depths  of  his  nature  by 
diverse  violent  passions. 

Late  in  the  evening  V had  occasion  to  go  up  to 

the  Freiherr’s  room  in  order  to  learn  his  decision  about 
some  matter  or  other  connected  with  the  estate-tail. 
He  found  him  pacing  up  and  down  the  room  with 
long  strides,  his  arms  crossed  on  his  back,  and  much 
perturbation  in  his  manner.  On  perceiving  the  Jus- 
titiarius he  stood  still,  and  then,  taking  him  by  both 
hands  and  looking  him  gloomily  in  the  face,  he  said 
in  a broken  voice,  “ My  brother  is  come.  I know 
what  you  are  going  to  say,”  he  proceeded  almost  before 
V had  opened  his  mouth  to  put  a question.  “Un- 

fortunately you  know  nothing.  You  don’t  know  that 
my  unfortunate  brother — yes,  I will  not  call  him  any- 
thing worse  than  unfortunate — that,  like  a spirit  of 
evil,  he  crosses  my  path  everywhere,  ruining  my  peace 
of  mind.  It  is  not  his  fault  that  I have  not  been  made 
unspeakably  miserable  ; he  did  his  best  to  make  me  so, 
but  Heaven  willed  it  otherwise.  Ever  since  he  has 
known  of  the  conversion  of  the  property  into  an  entail, 
he  has  persecuted  me  with  deadly  hatred.  He  envies 
me  this  property,  which  in  his  hands  would  only  be 
scattered  like  chaff.  He  is  the  wildest  spendthrift  I 
ever  heard  of.  His  load  of  debt  exceeds  by  a long  way 
the  half  of  the  unentailed  property  in  Courland  that 
fell  to  him,  and  now,  pursued  by  his  creditors,  who  fail 
not  to  worry  him  for  payment,  he  hurries  here  to  me 
to  beg  for  money.”  “And  you,  his  brother,  refuse  to 


288 


THE  ENTAIL. 


give  him  any?”  V was  about  to  interrupt  him; 

but  the  Freiherr,  letting  V ’s  hands  fall,  and  taking 

a long  step  backwards,  went  on  in  a loud  and  vehement 
tone.  “ Stop  ! yes  ; I refuse.  I neither  can  nor  will 
give  away  a single  thaler  of  the  revenues  of  the  entail. 
But  listen,  and  I will  tell  you  what  was  the  proposal 
which  I made  the  insane  fellow  a few  hours  ago,  and 
made  in  vain,  and  then  pass  judgment  upon  the  feel- 
ings of  duty  by  which  I am  actuated.  Our  unentailed 
possessions  in  Courland  are,  as  you  are  awyare,  consid- 
erable ; the  half  that  falls  to  me  I am  willing  to  re- 
nounce, but  in  favour  of  his  family.  For  Hubert  has 
married,  in  Courland,  a beautiful  lady,  but  poor.  She 
and  the  children  she  has  borne  him  are  starving.  The 
estates  should  be  put  under  trust  ; sufficient  should  be 
set  aside  out  of  the  revenues  to  support  him,  and  his 
creditors  be  paid  by  arrangement.  But  what  does  he 
care  for  a quiet  life — a life  free  of  anxiety  ? — what 
does  he  care  for  wife  and  child  ? Money,  ready-money, 
and  large  quantities,  is  what  he  will  have,  that  he  may 
squander  it  in  infamous  folly.  Some  demon  has  made 
him  acquainted  with  the  secret  of  the  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  thalers,  half  of  which  he  in  his  mad  way  de- 
mands, maintaining  that  this  money  is  movable  prop- 
erty and  quite  apart  from  the  entailed  portion.  This, 
however,  I must  and  will  refuse  him,  but  the  feeling 
haunts  me  that  he  is  plotting  my  destruction  in  his 
heart.” 

No  matter  how  great  the  efforts  which  V made 

to  persuade  the  Freiherr  out  of  this  suspicion  against 
his  brother,  in  which,  of  course,  not  being  initiated  into 
the  more  circumstantial  details  of  the  disagreement, 
he  could  only  appeal  to  broad  and  somewhat  super- 
ficial moral  principles,  he  yet  could  not  boast  of  the 
smallest  success.  The  Freiherr  commissioned  him  to 


THE  ENTAIL. 


289 


treat  with  his  hostile  and  avaricious  brother  Hubert. 

V  proceeded  to  do  so  with  all  the  circumspection 

he  was  master  of,  and  was  not  a little  gratified  when 
Hubert  at  length  declared,  “ Be  it  so  then  ; I will  ac- 
cept my  brother’s  proposals,  but  upon  condition  that 
he  will  now,  since  I am  on  the  point  of  losing  both 
my  honour  and  my  good  name  for  ever  through  the 
severity  of  my  creditors,  make  me  an  advance  of  a 
thousand  Fredericks  d'or  in  hard  cash,  and  further 
grant  that  in  time  to  come  I may  take  up  my  residence, 
at  least  for  a short  time  occasionally,  in  our  beautiful 
R — sitten,  along  with  my  good  brother.”  “Never, 

never  ! ” exclaimed  the  Freiherr  violently,  when  V 

laid  his  brother’s  amended  counter-proposals  before 
him.  “ I will  never  consent  that  Hubert  stay  in  my 
house  even  a single  minute  after  I have  brought  home 
my  wife.  Go,  my  good  friend,  tell  this  mar-peace  that 
he  shall  have  two  thousand  Fredericks  d'or , not  as  an 
advance,  but  as  a gift — only,  bid  him  go,  bid  him  go.” 

V  now  learned  at  one  and  the  same  time  that  the 

ground  of  the  quarrel  between  the  two  brothers  must 
be  sought  for  in  this  marriage.  Hubert  listened  to  the 
Justitiarius  proudly  and  calmly,  and  when  he  finished 
speaking  replied  in  a hoarse  and  hollow  tone,  “ I will 
think  it  over ; but  for  the  present  I shall  stay  a few 

days  in  the  castle.”  V exerted  himself  to  prove  to 

the  discontented  Hubert  that  the  Freiherr,  by  making 
over  his  share  of  their  unentailed  property,  was  really 
doing  all  he  possibly  could  do  to  indemnify  him,  and 
that  on  the  whole  he  had  no  cause  for  complaint 
against  his  brother,  although  at  the  same  time  he  ad- 
mitted that  all  institutions  of  the  nature  of  primogeni- 
ture, which  vested  such  preponderant  advantages  in 
the  eldest-born  to  the  prejudice  of  the  remaining  chil- 
dren, were  in  many  respects  hateful.  Hubert  tore  his 


290 


THE  ENTAIL. 


waistcoat  open  from  top  to  bottom  like  a man  whose 
breast  was  cramped  and  he  wanted  to  relieve  it  by 
fresh  air.  Thrusting  one  hand  into  his  open  shirt-frill 
and  planting  the  other  in  his  side,  he  spun  round  on 
one  foot  in  a quick  pirouette  and  cried  in  a sharp  voice, 
“Pshaw!  What  is  hateful  is  born  of  hatred.”  Then 
bursting  out  into  a shrill  fit  of  laughter,  he  said,  “What 
condescension  my  lord  of  the  entail  show's  in  being 
thus  willing  to  throw  his  gold  pieces  to  the  poor  beg- 
gar! ” V—  saw  plainly  that  all  idea  of  a complete 
reconciliation  between  the  brothers  was  quite  out  of  the 
question. 

To  the  Freiherr’s  annoyance,  Hubert  established 
himself  in  the  rooms  that  had  been  appointed  for  him 
in  one  of  the  side  wings  of  the  castle  as  if  w'ith  the 
view  to  a very  long  stay.  He  was  observed  to  hold  fre- 
quent and  long  conversations  with  the  house-steward  ; 
nay,  the  latter  was  sometimes  even  seen  to  accompany 
him  when  he  went  out  wolf-hunting.  Otherwise  he 
was  very  little  seen,  and  studiously  avoided  meeting 
his  brother  alone,  at  which  the  latter  v'as  very  glad. 

V felt  how  strained  and  unpleasant  this  state  of 

things  was,  and  was  obliged  to  confess  to  himself  that 
the  peculiar  uneasiness  which  marked  all  that  Hubert 
both  said  and  did  w'as  such  as  to  destroy  intentionally 
and  effectually  all  the  pleasure  of  the  place.  He  now' 
perfectly  understood  why  the  Freiherr  had  manifested 
so  much  alarm  on  seeing  his  brother. 

One  day  as  V was  sitting  by  himself  in  the  jus- 

tice-room amongst  his  law'-papers,  Hubert  came  in  with 
a grave  and  more  composed  manner  than  usual,  and 
said  in  a voice  that  bordered  upon  melancholy,  “ I will 
accept  my  brother’s  last  proposals.  If  you  will  con- 
trive that  I have  the  twTo  thousand  Fredericks  dor  to- 
day, I will  leave  the  castle  this  very  night — on  horse- 


THE  ENTAIL. 


291 


back — alone.”  “With  the  money?”  asked  V . 

“You  are  right,”  replied  Hubert  ; “ I know  what  you 
would  say — the  weight  ! Give  it  me  in  bills  on  Isaac 

Lazarus  of  K . For  to  K I am  going  this  very 

night.  Something  is  driving  me  away  from  this  place. 
The  old  fellow  has  bewitched  it  with  evil  spirits.” 
“ Do  you  mean  your  father,  Herr  Baron  ? ” asked 

V sternly.  Hubert’s  lips  trembled  ; he  had  to  cling 

to  the  chair  to  keep  from  falling  ; but  then  suddenly 
recovering  himself,  he  cried,  “ To-day  then,  please, 
Herr  Justitiarius,”  and  staggered  to  the  door,  not,  how- 
ever, without  some  exertion.  “ He  now  sees  that  no  de- 
ceptions are  any  longer  of  avail,  that  he  can  do  noth- 
ing against  my  firm  will,”  said  the  Freiherr  whilst 

drawing  up  the  bills  on  Isaac  Lazarus  in  K . A 

burden  was  lifted  off  his  heart  by  the  departure  of  his 
inimical  brother  ; and  for  a long  time  he  had  not  been 
in  such  cheerful  spirits  as  he  was  at  supper.  Hubert 
had  sent  his  excuses  ; and  there  was  not  one  who  re- 
gretted his  absence. 

The  room  which  V occupied  was  somewhat  re- 

tired, and  its  windows  looked  upon  the  castle-yard.  In 
the  night  he  was  suddenly  startled  up  out  of  his  sleep, 
and  was  under  the  impression  that  he  had  been  awak- 
ened by  a distant  and  pitiable  moan.  But  listen  as  he 
would,  all  remained  still  as  the  grave,  and  so  he  was 
obliged  to  conclude  that  the  sound  which  had  fallen 
upon  his  ears  was  the  delusion  of  a dream.  But  at  the 
same  time  he  was  seized  with  such  a peculiar  feeling 
of  breathless  anxiety  and  terror  that  he  could  not  stay 
in  bed.  He  got  up  and  approached  the  window.  It 
was  not  long,  however,  before  the  castle  door  was 
opened,  and  a figure  with  a blazing  torch  came  out  of 
the  castle  and  went  across  the  court-yard.  V rec- 

ognised the  figure  as  that  of  old  Daniel,  and  saw  him 


292 


THE  ENTAIL. 


open  the  stable-door  and  go  in,  and  soon  afterwards 
bring  out  a saddle  horse.  Now  a second  figure  came 
into  view  out  of  the  darkness,  W'ell  wrapped  in  furs,  and 

with  a fox-skin  cap  on  his  head.  V perceived  that 

it  was  Hubert ; but  after  he  had  spoken  excitedly  with 
Daniel  for  some  minutes,  he  returned  into  the  castle. 
Daniel  led  back  the  horse  into  the  stable  and  locked  the 
door,  and  also  that  of  the  castle,  after  he  had  returned 
across  the  court-yard  in  the  same  wTay  in  which  he 
crossed  it  before.  It  was  evident  Hubert  had  intend- 
ed to  go  away  on  horseback,  but  had  suddenly  changed 
his  mind  ; and  no  less  evident  was  it  that  there  was  a 
dangerous  understanding  of  some  sort  between  Hubert 
and  the  old  house-steward.  V — — looked  forward  to 
the  morning  wTith  burning  impatience  ; he  would  ac- 
quaint the  Freiherr  with  the  occurrences  of  the  night. 
Really  it  was  now  time  to  take  precautionary'  measures 

against  the  attacks  of  Hubert’s  malice,  which  V 

was  now  convinced,  had  been  betrayed  in  his  agitated 
behaviour  of  the  day  before. 

Next  morning,  at  the  hour  when  the  Freiherr  wras  in 
the  habit  of  rising,  V heard  people  running  back- 

wards and  forwards,  doors  opened  and  slammed  to,  and 
a tumultuous  confusion  of  voices  talking  and  shouting. 
On  going  out  of  his  room  he  met  servants  everywhere, 
who,  without  heeding  him,  ran  past  him  with  ghastly 
pale  faces,  upstairs,  downstairs,  in  and  out  the  rooms. 
At  length  he  ascertained  that  the  Freiherr  was  missing, 
and  that  they  had  been  looking  for  him  for  hours  in 
vain.  As  he  had  gone  to  bed  in  the  presence  of  his 
personal  attendant,  he  must  have  afterwards  got  up  and 
gone  away  somew'here  in  his  dressing-gown  and  slip- 
pers, taking  the  large  candlestick  wfith  him,  for  these 

articles  were  also  missed.  V , his  mind  agitated 

with  dark  forebodings,  ran  up  to  the  ill-fated  hall,  the 


THE  ENTAIL. 


293 


cabinet  adjoining  which  Wolfgang  had  chosen,  like  his 
father,  for  his  own  bedroom.  The  postern  leading  to 

the  tower  stood  wide  open,  with  a cry  of  horror  V 

shouted,  “ There — he  lies  dashed  to  pieces  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  ravine.”  And  it  was  so.  There  had  been 
a fall  of  snow,  so  that  all  they  could  distinctly  make 
out  from  above  was  the  rigid  arm  of  the  unfortunate 
man  protruding  from  between  the  stones.  Many  hours 
passed  before  the  workmen  succeeded,  at  great  risk  of 
life,  in  descending  by  means  of  ladders  bound  together, 
and  drawing  up  the  corpse  by  the  aid  of  ropes.  In  the 
last  agonies  of  death  the  Baron  had  kept  a tight  hold 
upon  the  silver  candlestick  ; the  hand  in  which  it  was 
clenched  was  the  only  uninjured  part  of  his  whole  body, 
which  had  been  shattered  in  the  most  hideous  way  by 
rebounding  on  the  sharp  stones. 

Just  as  the  corpse  was  drawn  up  and  carried  into 
the  hall,  and  laid  upon  the  very  same  spot  on  the  large 
table  where  a few  weeks  before  old  Roderick  had  lain 
dead,  Hubert  burst  in,  his  face  distorted  by  the  frenzy 
of  despair.  Quite  overpowered  by  the  fearful  sight  he 
wailed,  “Brother!  O my  poor  brother!  No;  this  I 
never  prayed  for  from  the  demons  who  had  entered 

into  me.”  This  suspicious  self-exculpation  made  V 

tremble  ; he  felt  impelled  to  proceed  against  Hubert 
as  the  murderer  of  his  brother.  Hubert,  however,  had 
fallen  on  the  floor  senseless  ; they  carried  him  to  bed  ; 
but  on  taking  strong  restoratives  he  soon  recovered. 

Then  he  appeared  in  V ’s  room,  pale  and  sorrow- 

stricken,  and  with  his  eyes  half  clouded  with  grief ; and 
unable  to  stand  owing  to  his  weakness,  he  slowly  sank 
down  into  an  easy-chair,  saying,  “ I have  wished  for 
my  brother’s  death,  because  my  father  had  made  over 
to  him  the  best  part  of  the  property  through  the 
foolish  conversion  of  it  into  an  entail.  He  has  now  found 


2 94 


THE  ENTAIL. 


a fearful  death.  I am  now  lord  of  the  estate-tail,  but 
my  heart  is  rent  with  pain — I can — I shall  never  be 
happy.  I confirm  you  in  your  office  ; you  shall  be 
invested  with  the  most  extensive  powers  in  respect  to 
the  management  of  the  estate,  upon  which  I cannot 
bear  to  live.”  Hubert  left  the  room,  and  in  two  or 

three  hours  was  on  his  way  to  K . 

It  appeared  that  the  unfortunate  Wolfgang  had  got 
up  in  the  night,  probably  with  the  intention  of  going 
into  the  other  cabinet  where  there  was  a library.  In 
the  stupor  of  sleep  he  had  mistaken  the  door,  and  had 
opened  the  postern,  taken  a step  out,  and  plunged 
headlong  down.  But  after  all  had  been  said,  there 
was  nevertheless  a good  deal  that  wras  strained  and 
unlikely  in  this  explanation.  If  the  Baron  was  unable 
to  sleep  and  wanted  to  get  a book  out  of  the  library, 
this  of  itself  excluded  all  idea  of  sleep-stupor  ; but  this 
condition  alone  could  account  for  any  mistaking  of 
the  postern  for  the  door  of  the  cabinet.  Then  again, 
the  former  was  fast  locked,  and  required  a good  deal 

of  exertion  to  unlock  it.  These  improbabilities  V 

accordingly  put  before  the  domestics,  who  had  gathered 
round  him,  and  at  length  the  Freiherr's  body-servant, 
Francis  by  name,  said,  “Nay,  nay,  my  good  Herr 
Justitiarius  ; it  couldn’t  have  happened  in  that  way.” 
“Well,  how  then  ?”  asked  V — — abruptly  and  sharply. 
But  Francis,  a faithful,  honest  fellow,  who  would  have 
followed  his  master  into  his  grave,  was  unwilling  to 
speak  out  before  the  rest ; he  stipulated  that  what  he 
had  to  say  about  the  event  should  be  confided  to  the 

Justitiarius  alone  in  private.  V now  learned  that 

the  Freiherr  used  often  to  talk  to  Francis  about  the 
vast  treasure  which  he  believed  lay  buried  beneath  the 
ruins  of  the  tower,  and  also  that  frequently  at  night,  as 
if  goaded  by  some  malicious  fiend,  he  would  open  the 


THE  ENTAIL. 


295 


postern,  the  key  of  which  Daniel  had  been  obliged  to 
give  him,  and  would  gaze  with  longing  eyes  down  into 
the  chasm  where  the  supposed  riches  lay.  There  was 
now  no  doubt  about  it ; on  that  ill-omened  night  the 
Freiherr,  after  his  servant  had  left  him,  must  have 
taken  one  of  his  usual  walks  to  the  postern,  where  he 
had  been  most  likely  suddenly  seized  with  dizziness, 
and  had  fallen  over.  Daniel,  who  also  seemed  much 
upset  by  the  Freiherr’s  terrible  end,  thought  it  would 
be  a good  thing  to  have  the  dangerous  postern  walled 
up  ; and  this  was  at  once  done. 

Freiherr  Hubert  von  R , who  had  then  succeeded 

to  the  entail,  went  back  to  Courland  without  once 

showing  himself  at  R — sitten  again.  V- was  invested 

with  full  powers  for  the  absolute  management  of  the 
property.  The  building  of  the  new  castle  was  not  pro- 
ceeded with  ; but  on  the  other  hand  the  old  structure 
was  put  in  as  good  a state  of  repair  as  possible.  Sev- 
eral years  passed  before  Hubert  came  again  to  R — sit- 
ten, late  in  the  autumn,  but  after  he  had  remanied  shut 

up  in  his  room  with  V for  several  days,  he  went 

back  to  Courland.  Passing  on  his  way  through  K , 

he  deposited  his  will  with  the  government  authorities 
there. 

The  Freiherr,  whose  character  appeared  to  have  un- 
dergone a complete  revolution,  spoke  more  than  once 
during  his  stay  at  R — sitten  of  presentiments  of  his 
approaching  death.  And  these  apprehensions  were 
really  not  unfounded,  for  he  died  in  the  very  next  year. 
His  son,  named,  like  the  deceased  Baron,  Hubert,  soon 
came  over  from  Courland  to  take  possession  of  the  rich 
inheritance  ; and  was  followed  by  his  mother  and  his 
sister.  The  youth  seemed  to  unite  in  his  own  person 
all  the  bad  qualities  of  his  ancestors  : he  proved  himself 
to  be  proud,  arrogant,  impetuous,  avaricious,  in  the 


296 


THE  ENTAIL. 


very  first  moments  after  his  arrival  at  R — sitten.  He 
wanted  to  have  several  things  which  did  not  suit  his 
notions  of  what  was  right  and  proper  altered  there  and 
then  : the  cook  he  kicked  out  of  doors  ; and  he  attempted 
to  thrash  the  coachman,  in  which,  however,  he  did  not 
succeed,  for  the  big  brawny  fellow  had  the  impudence 
not  to  submit  to  it.  In  fact,  he  was  on  the  high  road 
to  assuming  the  role  of  a harsh  and  severe  lord  of  the 
entail,  when  V interposed  in  his  firm  earnest  man- 

ner, declaring  most  explicitly  that  not  a single  chair 
should  be  moved,  that  not  even  a cat  should  leave  the 
house  if  she  liked  to  stay  in  it,  until  after  the  will  had 
been  opened.  “ You  have  the  presumption  to  tell  me, 
the  lord  of  the  entail,”  began  the  Baron.  V , how- 

ever, cut  short  the  young  man,  who  was  foaming  with 
rage,  and  said,  whilst  he  measured  him  with  a keen 
searching  glance,  “ Don’t  be  in  too  great  a hurry,  Herr 
Baron.  At  all  events,  you  have  no  right  to  exercise 
authority  here  until  after  the  opening  of  your  father’s 
will.  It  is  I — I alone — who  am  now  master  here  ; and 
I shall  know  how  to  meet  violence  with  violent  measures. 
Please  to  recollect  that  by  virtue  of  my  powers  as  ex- 
ecutor of  your  father’s  will,  as  well  as  by  virtue  of  the 
arrangements  which  have  been  made  by  the  court,  I am 
empowered  to  forbid  your  remaining  in  R — sitten  if  I 
think  fit  to  do  so  ; and  so,  if  you  wish  to  spare  me  this 
disagreeable  step,  I would  advise  you  to  go  away  quietly 

to  K .”  The  lawyer’s  earnestness,  and  the  resolute 

tone  in  which  he  spoke,  lent  the  proper  emphasis  to 
his  words.  Hence  the  young  Baron,  who  was  charging 
with  horns  far  too  sharp-pointed,  felt  the  weakness  of 
his  weapons  against  the  firm  bulwark,  and  found  it  con- 
venient to  cover  the  shame  of  his  retreat  with  a burst 
of  scornful  laughter. 

Three  months  passed  and  the  day  was  come  on  which, 


THE  ENTAIL. 


297 


in  accordance  with  the  expressed  wish  of  the  deceased. 

his  will  was  to  be  opened  at  K , where  it  had  been 

deposited.  In  the  chambers  there  was,  besides  the  offi- 
cers of  the  court,  the  Baron,  and  V , a young  man 

of  noble  appearance,  whom  V had  brought  with  him, 

and  who  was  taken  to  be  V 's  clerk,  since  he  had 

a parchment  deed  sticking  out  from  the  breast  of  his 
buttoned-up  coat.  Him  the  Baron  treated  as  he  did 
nearly  all  the  rest,  with  scornful  contempt  ; and  he  de- 
manded with  noisy  impetuosity  that  they  should  make 
haste  and  get  done  with  all  their  tiresome  needless  cere- 
monies as  quickly  as  possible  and  without  over  many 
words  and  scribblings.  He  couldn’t  for  the  life  of  him 
make  out  why  any  will  should  be  wanted  at  all  with 
respect  to  the  inheritance,  and  especially  in  the  case 
of  entailed  property  ; and  no  matter  what  provisions 
were  made  in  the  will,  it  would  depend  entirely  upon 
his  decision  as  to  whether  they  should  be  observed  or 
not.  After  casting  a hasty  and  surly  glance  at  the 
handwriting  and  the  seal,  the  Baron  acknowledged 
them  to  be  those  of  his  dead  father.  Upon  the  clerk  of 
the  court  preparing  to  read  the  will  aloud,  the  young 
Baron,  throwing  his  right  arm  carelessly  over  the  back 
of  his  chair  and  leaning  his  left  on  the  table,  whilst  he 
drummed  with  his  fingers  on  its  green  cover,  sat  staring 
with  an  air  of  indifference  out  of  the  window.  After  a 

short  preamble  the  deceased  Freiherr  Hubert  von  R 

declared  that  he  had  never  possessed  the  estate-tail  as 
its  lawful  owner,  but  that  he  had  only  managed  it  in 
the  name  of  the  deceased  Freiherr  Wolfgang  von 
R ’s  only  son,  called  Roderick  after  his  grand- 

father ; and  he  it  was  to  whom,  according  to  the  rights 
of  family  priority,  the  estate  had  fallen  on  his  father’s 
death.  Amongst  Hubert’s  papers  would  be  found  an 
exact  account  of  all  revenues  and  expenditure,  as  well 


298 


THE  ENTAIL. 


as  of  existing  movable  property,  &c.  The  will  went  on 

to  relate  that  Wolfgang  von  R had,  during  his 

travels,  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mdlle.  Julia  de  St. 
Val  in  Geneva,  and  had  fallen  so  deeply  in  love  with 
her  that  he  resolved  never  to  leave  her  side  again.  She 
was  very  poor  ; and  her  family,  although  noble  and  of 
good  repute,  did  not,  however,  rank  amongst  the  most 
illustrious,  for  which  reason  Wolfgang  dared  not  ex- 
pect to  receive  the  consent  of  old  Roderick  to  a union 
with  her,  for  the  old  Freiherr’s  aim  and  ambition  was 
to  promote  by  all  possible  means  the  establishment  of 
a powerful  family.  Nevertheless  he  ventured  to  write 
from  Paris  to  his  father,  acquainting  him  with  the  fact 
that  his  affections  were  engaged.  But  what  he  had 
foreseen  was  actually  realised  ; the  old  Baron  declared 
categorically  that  he  had  himself  chosen  the  future 
mistress  of  the  entail,  and  therefore  there  could  ne%rer 
be  any  mention  made  of  any  other.  Wolfgang,  instead 
of  crossing  the  Channel  into  England,  as  he  was  to 
have  done,  returned  into  Geneva  under  the  assumed 
name  of  Born,  and  married  Julia,  who  after  the  lapse 
of  a year  bore  him  a son,  and  this  son  became  on  Wolf- 
gang’s death  the  real  lord  of  the  entail.  In  explana- 
tion of  the  facts  why  Hubert,  though  acquainted  with 
all  this,  had  kept  silent  so  long  and  had  represented 
himself  as  lord  of  the  entail,  various  reasons  were  as- 
signed, based  upon  agreements  formerly  made  with 
Wolfgang,  but  they  seemed  for  the  most  part  insuffi- 
cient and  devoid  of  real  foundation. 

The  Baron  sat  staring  at  the  clerk  of  the  court  as  if 
thunderstruck,  whilst  the  latter  went  on  proclaiming 
all  this  bad  news  in  a provokingly  monotonous  and 
jarring  tone.  When  he  finished,  V rose,  and  tak- 

ing the  young  man  whom  he  had  brought  with  him  by 
the  hand,  said,  as  he  bowed  to  the  assembled  company, 


THE  ENTAIL. 


299 


•‘Here  I have  the  honour  to  present  to  you,  gentle- 
men, Freiherr  Roderick  von  R , lord  of  the  entail 

of  R — sitten.”  Baron  Hubert  looked  at  the  youth,  who 
had,  as  it  were,  fallen  from  the  clouds  to  deprive  him 
of  the  rich  inheritance  together  with  half  the  unen- 
tailed Courland  estates,  with  suppressed  fury  in  his 
gleaming  eyes  ; then,  threatening  him  with  his  doubled 
fist,  he  ran  out  of  the  court  without  uttering  a word. 
Baron  Roderick,  on  being  challenged  by  the  court- 
officers,  produced  the  documents  by  which  he  was  to 
establish  his  identity  as  the  person  whom  he  repre- 
sented himself  to  be.  He  handed  in  an  attested  ex- 
tract from  the  register  of  the  church  where  his  father 
was  married,  which  certified  that  on  such  and  such  a 

day  Wolfgang  Born,  merchant,  born  in  K , had 

been  united  in  marriage  with  the  blessing  of  the 
Church  to  Mdlle.  Julia  de  St.  Val,  in  the  presence  of 
certain  witnesses,  who  were  named.  Further,  he  pro- 
duced his  own  baptismal  certificate  (he  had  been  bap- 
tized in  Geneva  as  the  son  of  the  merchant  Born  and 
his  wife  Julia,  nee  De  St.  Val,  begotten  in  lawful  wed- 
lock), and  various  letters  from  his  father  to  his  mother, 
who  was  long  since  dead,  but  they  none  of  them  had 
any  other  signature  than  W. 

V looked  through  all  these  papers  with  a cloud 

upon  his  face  ; and  as  he  put  them  together  again,  he 
said,  somewhat  troubled,  “Ah  well!  God  will  help 
us  ! ” 

The  very  next  morning  Freiherr  Hubert  von  R 

presented,  through  an  advocate  whose  services  he  had 
succeeded  in  enlisting  in  his  cause,  a statement  of  pro- 
test to  the  government  authorities  in  K , actually 

calling  upon  them  to  effectuate  the  immediate  surrender 
to  him  of  the  entail  of  R — sitten.  It  was  incontestable, 
maintained  the  advocate,  that  the  deceased  Freiherr 


300 


THE  ENTAIL. 


Hubert  Von  R had  not  had  the  power  to  dispose  of 

entailed  property  either  by  testament  or  in  any  other 
way.  The  testament  in  question,  therefore,  was  noth- 
ing more  than  an  evidential  statement,  written  down 
and  deposited  with  the  court,  to  the  effect  that  Frei- 
herr Wolfgang  von  R had  bequeathed  the  estate- 

tail  to  a son  who  was  at  that  time  still  living  ; and  ac- 
cordingly it  had  as  evidence  no  greater  weight  than 
that  of  any  other  witness,  and  so  could  not  by  any  pos- 
sibility legitimately  establish  the  claims  of  the  person 
who  had  announced  himself  to  be  Freiherr  Roderick 
von  R— — Hence  it  was  rather  the  duty  of  this  new 
claimant  to  prove  by  action  at  law  his  alleged  rights  of 
inheritance,  which  were  hereby  expressly  disputed  and 
denied,  and  so  also  to  take  proper  steps  to  maintain  his 
claim  to  the  estate-tail,  which  now,  according  to  the 

laws  of  succession,  fell  to  Baron  Hubert  von  R . 

By  the  father’s  death  the  property  came  at  once  imme- 
diately into  the  hands  of  the  son.  There  was  no  need 
for  any  formal  declaration  to  be  made  of  his  entering 
into  possession  of  the  inheritance,  since  the  succession 
could  not  be  alienated  ; at  any  rate,  the  present  owner 
of  the  estate  was  not  going  to  be  disturbed  in  his  pos- 
session by  claims  which  were  perfectly  groundless. 
Whatever  reasons  the  deceased  might  have  had  for 
bringing  forward  another  heir  of  entail  were  quite  ir- 
relevant. And  it  might  be  remarked  that  he  had  him- 
self had  an  intrigue  in  Switzerland,  as  could  be  proved 
if  necessary  from  the  papers  he  had  left  behind  him  ; 
and  it  was  quite  possible  that  the  person  whom  he  al- 
leged to  be  his  brother’s  son  was  his  own  son,  the  fruit 
of  an  unlawful  love,  for  whom  in  a momentary  fit  of 
remorse  he  had  wished  to  secure  the  entail.  '®= — 

However  great  was  the  balance  of  probability  in 
favour  of  the  truth  of  the  circumstances  as  stated  in  the 


THE  ENTAIL. 


301 


will,  and  however  revolted  the  judges  were,  particularly 
by  the  last  clauses  of  the  protest,  in  which  the  son  felt 
no  compunction  at  accusing  his  dead  father  of  a crime, 
yet  the  views  of  the  case  there  stated  were  after  all  the 

right  ones  ; and  it  was  only  due  to  V ’s  restless 

exertions,  and  his  explicit  and  solemn  assurance  that  the 
proofs  which  were  necessary  to  establish  legitimately 

the  identity  of  Freiherr  Roderick  von  R should  be 

produced  in  a very  short  time,  that  the  surrender  of 
the  estate  to  the  young  Baron  was  deferred,  and  the 
contrivance  of  the  administration  of  it  in  trust  agreed 
to,  until  after  the  case  should  be  settled. 

V was  only  too  well  aware  how  difficult  it  would 

be  for  him  to  keep  his  promise.  He  had  turned  over 
all  old  Roderick’s  papers  without  finding  the  slightest 
trace  of  a letter  or  any  kind  of  a statement  bearing 
upon  Wolfgang’s  relation  to  Mdlle.  de  St.  Val.  He  was 
sitting  wrapt  in  thought  in  old  Roderick’s  sleeping- 
cabinet,  every  hole  and  corner  of  which  he  had  searched, 
and  was  working  at  a long  statement  of  the  case  that 
he  intended  despatching  to  a certain  notary  in  Geneva, 
who  had  been  recommended  to  him  as  a shrewd  and 
energetic  man,  to  request  him  to  procure  and  forward 
certain  documents  which  would  establish  the  young 
Freiherr’s  cause  on  firm  ground.  It  was  midnight ; the 
full  moon  shone  in  through  the  windows  of  the  adjoin- 
ing hall,  the  door  of  which  stood  open.  Then  V 

fancied  he  heard  a noise  as  of  some  one  coming  slowly 
and  heavily  up  the  stairs,  and  also  at  the  same  time  a 
jingling  and  rattling  of  keys.  His  attention  was  ar- 
rested ; he  rose  to  his  feet  and  went  into  the  hall, 
where  he  plainly  made  out  that  there  was  some  one 
crossing  the  ante-room  and  approaching  the  door  of 
the  hall  where  he  was.  Soon  afterwards  the  door  was 
opened  and  a man  came  slowly  in,  dressed  in  night- 


302 


THE  ENTAIL. 


clothes,  his  face  ghastly  pale  and  distorted  ; in  the  one 
hand  he  bore  a candle-stick  with  the  candles  burning, 

and  in  the  other  a huge  bunch  of  keys.  V at  once 

recognised  the  house-steward,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
addressing  him  and  inquiring  what  he  wanted  so  late 
at  night,  when  he  was  arrested  by  an  icy  shiver  ; there 
was  something  so  unearthly  and  ghost-like  in  the  old 
man’s  manner  and  bearing  as  well  as  in  his  set,  pallid 
face.  He  perceived  that  he  was  in  presence  of  a som- 
nambulist. Crossing  the  hall  obliquely  with  measured 
strides,  the  old  man  went  straight  to  the  walled-up 
postern  that  had  formerly  led  to  the  tower.  He  came 
to  a halt  immediately  in  front  of  it,  and  uttered  a wail- 
ing sound  that  seemed  to  come  from  the  bottom  of  his 
heart,  and  was  so  awful  and  so  loud  that  the  whole 

apartment  rang  again,  making  V tremble  with 

dread.  Then,  setting  the  candlestick  down  on  the  floor 
and  hanging  the  keys  on  his  belt,  Daniel  began  to 
scratch  at  the  wall  with  both  hands,  so  that  the  blood 
soon  burst  out  from  beneath  his  finger-nails,  and  all  the 
while  he  was  moaning  and  groaning  as  if  tortured  by 
nameless  agony.  After  placing  his  ear  against  the  wall 
in  a listening  attitude,  he  waved  his  hand  as  if  hushing 
some  one,  stooped  down  and  picked  up  the  candle- 
stick, and  finally  stole  back  to  the  door  with  soft  meas- 
ured footsteps.  V took  his  own  candle  in  his  hand 

and  cautiously  followed  him.  They  both  went  down- 
stairs ; the  old  man  unlocked  the  great  main  door  of 

the  castle,  V slipped  cleverly  through.  Then  they 

went  to  the  stable,  where  old  Daniel,  to  V ’s  perfect 

astonishment,  placed  his  candlestick  so  skilfully  that 
the  entire  interior  of  the  building  was  sufficiently 
lighted  without  the  least  danger.  Having  fetched  a 
saddle  and  bridle,  he  put  them  on  one  of  the  horses 
which  he  had  loosed  from  the  manger,  carefully  tight- 


THE  ENTAIL. 


3°3 


ening  the  girth  and  taking  up  the  stirrup-straps.  Pull- 
ing the  tuft  of  hair  on  the  horse’s  forehead  outside  the 
front  strap,  he  took  him  by  the  bridle  and  led  him  out 
of  the  stable,  clicking  with  his  tongue  and  patting  his 
neck  with  one  hand.  On  getting  outside  in  the  court- 
yard he  stood  several  seconds  in  the  attitude  of  one  re- 
ceiving commands,  which  he  promised  by  sundry  nods 
to  carry  out.  Then  he  led  the  horse  back  into  the 
stable,  unsaddled  him,  and  tied  him  to  the  manger. 
This  done,  he  took  his  candlestick,  locked  the  stable, 
and  returned  to  the  castle,  finally  disappearing  in  his 

own  room,  the  door  of  which  he  carefully  bolted.  V 

was  deeply  agitated  by  this  scene  ; the  presentiment  of 
some  fearful  deed  rose  up  before  him  like  a black  and 
fiendish  spectre,  and  refused  to  leave  him.  Being  so 
keenly  alive  as  he  was  to  the  precarious  position  of  his 
protege , he  felt  that  it  would  at  least  be  his  duty  to  turn 
what  he  had  seen  to  his  account. 

Next  day,  just  as  it  was  beginning  to  be  dusk,  Daniel 
came  into  the  Justitiarius’s  room  to  receive  some  in- 
structions relating  to  his  department  of  the  household. 

V took  him  by  the  arms,  and  forcing  him  into  a 

chair,  in  a confidential  way  began,  “ See  you  here,  my 
old  friend  Daniel,  I have  long  been  wishing  to  ask  you 
what  you  think  of  all  this  confused  mess  into  which 
Hubert’s  peculiar  will  has  tumbled  us.  Do  you  really 
think  that  the  young  man  is  Wolfgang’s  son,  begotten 
in  lawful  marriage?”  The  old  man,  leaning  over  the 

arm  of  his  chair,  and  avoiding  V ’s  eyes,  for  V 

was  watching  him  most  intently,  replied  doggedly, 
“ Bah  ! Maybe  he  is  ; maybe  he  is  not.  What  does  it 
matter  to  me  ? It’s  all  the  same  to  me  who’s  master 

here  now.”  “But  I believe,”  went  on  V , moving 

nearer  to  the  old  man  and  placing  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  “but  I believe  you  possessed  the  old  Frei- 


3°4 


THE  ENTAIL. 


herr’s  full  confidence,  and  in  that  case  he  assuredly 
would  not  conceal  from  you  the  real  state  of  affairs 
with  regard  to  his  sons.  He  told  you,  I dare  say,  about 
the  marriage  which  Wolfgang  had  made  against  his 
will,  did  he  not  ? ” “I  don’t  remember  to  have  ever 
heard  him  say  anything  of  that  sort,”  replied  the  old 
man,  yawning  with  the  most  ill-mannered  loudness. 

“ You  are  sleepy,  old  man,”  said  V ; “perhaps  you 

have  had  a restless  night?”  “Not  that  I am  aware,” 
he  rejoined  coldly  ; “ but  I must  go  and  order  supper.” 
Whereupon  he  rose  heavily  from  his  chair  and  rubbed 
his  bent  back,  yawning  again,  and  that  still  more 
loudly  than  before.  “ Stay  a little  while,  old  man,” 

cried  V , taking  hold  of  his  hand  and  endeavouring 

to  force  him  to  resume  his  seat  ; but  Daniel  preferred 
to  stand  in  front  of  the  study-table  ; propping  himself 
upon  it  with  both  hands,  and  leaning  across  towards 

V , he  asked  sullenly,  “Well,  what  do  you  want? 

What  have  I to  do  with  the  will  ? What  do  I care 
about  the  quarrel  over  the  estate?”  “Well,  well,” 

interposed  V , “ we’ll  say  no  more  about  that  now. 

Let  us  turn  to  some  other  topic,  Daniel.  You  are  out 
of  humour  and  yawning,  and  all  that  is  a sign  of  great 
weariness,  and  I am  almost  inclined  to  believe  that  it 

really  was  you  last  night,  who  ” “ Well,  what  did 

I do  last  night  ? ” asked  the  old  man  without  changing 

his  position.  V went  on,  “ Last  night,  when  I was 

sitting  up  above  in  your  old  master’s  sleeping-cabinet 
next  the  great  hall,  you  came  in  at  the  door,  your  face 
pale  and  rigid  ; and  you  went  across  to  the  bricked-up 
postern  and  scratched  at  the  wall  with  both  your  hands, 
groaning  as  if  in  very  great  pain.  Do  you  walk  in 
your  sleep,  Daniel  ? ” The  old  man  dropped  back  into 

the  chair  which  V quickly  managed  to  place  for 

him  ; but  not  a sound  escaped  his  lips.  His  face  could 


THE  ENTAIL. 


3°5 


not  be  seen,  owing  to  the  gathering  dusk  of  the  even- 
ing ; V only  noticed  that  he  took  his  breath  short 

and  that  his  teeth  were  rattling  together.  “Yes,”  con- 
tinued V after  a short  pause,  “ there  is  one  thing 

that  is  very  strange  about  sleep-walkers.  On  the  day 
after  they  have  been  in  this  peculiar  state  in  which 
they  have  acted  as  if  they  wrere  perfectly  wide  awake, 
they  don’t  remember  the  least  thing  that  they  did.” 
Daniel  did  not  move.  “ I have  come  across  something 
like  what  your  condition  was  yesterday  once  before  in 

the  course  of  my  experience,”  proceeded  V . “I 

had  a friend  who  regularly  began  to  wander  about  at 
night  as  you  do  whenever  it  was  full  moon, — nay,  he 
often  sat  down  and  wrote  letters.  But  what  was  most 
extraordinary  was  that  if  I began  to  whisper  softly  in 
his  ear  I could  soon  manage  to  make  him  speak  ; and 
he  would  answer  correctly  all  the  questions  I put  to 
him  ; and  even  things  that  he  would  most  jealously 
have  concealed  when  awake  now  fell  from  his  lips  un- 
bidden, as  though  he  were  unable  to  offer  any  resist- 
ance to  the  power  that  was  exerting  its  influence  over 
him.  Deuce  take  it  ! I really  believe  that,  if  a man 
who’s  given  to  walking  in  his  sleep  had  ever  committed 
any  crime,  and  hoarded  it  up  as  a secret  ever  so  long, 
it  could  be  extracted  from  him  by  questioning  when 
he  was  in  this  peculiar  state.  Happy  are  they  who 
have  a clean  conscience  like  you  and  me,  Daniel ! We 
may  walk  as  much  as  we  like  in  our  sleep  ; there’s  no 
fear  of  anybody  extorting  the  confession  of  a crime 
from  us.  But  come  now,  Daniel  ! when  you  scratch 
so  hideously  at  the  bricked-up  postern,  you  want,  I 
dare  say,  to  go  up  the  astronomical  tower,  don’t  you  ? 
I suppose  you  want  to  go  and  experiment  like  old 
Roderick — eh?  Well,  next  time  you  come,  I shall 
ask  you  what  you  want  to  do.”  Whilst  V was 


3°6 


THE  ENTAIL. 


speaking,  the  old  man  was  shaken  with  continually 
increasing  agitation  ; but  now  his  whole  frame  seemed 
to  heave  and  rock  convulsively  past  all  hope  of  cure, 
and  in  a shrill  voice  he  began  to  utter  a string  of 

unmeaning  gibberish.  V rang  for  the  servants. 

They  brought  lights  ; but  as  the  old  man’s  fit  did  not 
abate,  they  lifted  him  up  as  though  he  had  been  a 
mere  automaton,  not  possessed  of  the  power  of  volun- 
tary movement,  and  carried  him  to  bed.  After  con- 
tinuing in  this  frightful  state  for  about  an  hour,  he 
fell  into  a profound  sleep  resembling  a dead  faint. 
When  he  awoke  he  asked  for  wine  ; and,  after  he  had 
got  what  he  wanted,  he  sent  away  the  man  who  was 
going  to  sit  with  him,  and  locked  himself  in  his  room 
as  usual. 

V — — had  indeed  really  resolved  to  make  the  attempt 
he  spoke  of  to  Daniel,  although  at  the  same  time  he 
could  not  forget  two  facts.  In  the  first  place,  Daniel, 
having  now  been  made  aware  of  his  propensity  to  walk 
in  his  sleep,  would  probably  adopt  every  measure  of 
precaution  to  avoid  him  ; and  on  the  other  hand,  con- 
fessions made  whilst  in  this  condition  would  not  be  ex- 
actly fitted  to  serve  as  a basis  for  further  proceedings. 
In  spite  of  this,  however,  he  repaired  to  the  hall  on  the 
approach  of  midnight,  hoping  that  Daniel,  as  frequently 
happens  to  those  afflicted  in  this  way,  would  be  con- 
strained to  act  involuntarily.  About  midnight  there 

arose  a great  noise  in  the  courtyard.  V plainly 

heard  a window  broken  in  ; then  he  went  downstairs, 
and  as  he  traversed  the  passages  he  was  met  by  rolling 
clouds  of  suffocating  smoke,  which,  he  soon  perceived 
were  pouring  out  of  the  open  door  of  the  house-stew- 
ard’s room.  The  steward  himself  was  just  being  carried 
out,  to  all  appearance  dead,  in  order  to  be  taken  and 
put  to  bed  in  another  room.  The  servants  related  that 


THE  ENTAIL. 


307 


about  midnight  one  of  the  under-grooms  had  been 
awakened  by  a strange  hollow  knocking  ; he  thought 
something  had  befallen  the  old  man,  and  was  preparing 
to  get  up  and  go  and  see  if  he  could  help  him,  when 
the  night  watchman  in  the  court  shouted,  “ Fire ! 
Fire  ! The  Herr  House-Steward’s  room  is  all  of  a 
bright  blaze  ! ” At  this  outcry  several  servants  at  once 
appeared  on  the  scene  ; but  all  their  efforts  to  burst 
open  the  room  door  were  unavailing.  Whereupon  they 
hurried  out  into  the  court,  but  the  resolute  watchman 
had  already  broken  in  the  window,  for  the  room  was 
low  and  on  the  basement  story,  had  torn  down  the 
burning  curtains,  and  by  pouring  a few  buckets  of  water 
on  them  had  at  once  extinguished  the  fire.  The  house- 
steward  they  found  lying  on  the  floor  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  in  a swoon.  In  his  hand  he  still  held  the 
candlestick  tightly  clenched,  the  burning  candles  of 
which  had  caught  the  curtains,  and  so  occasioned  the 
fire.  Some  of  the  blazing  rags  had  fallen  upon  the  old 
man,  burning  his  eyebrows  and  a large  portion  of  the 
hair  of  his  head.  If  the  watchman  had  not  seen  the  fire 
the  old  man  must  have  been  helplessly  burned  to  death. 
The  servants,  moreover,  to  their  no  little  astonishment 
found  the  room  door  secured  on  the  inside  by  two  quite 
new  bolts,  which  had  been  fastened  on  since  the  previ- 
ous evening,  for  they  had  not  been  there  then.  V 

perceived  that  the  old  man  had  wished  to  make  it  im- 
possible for  him  to  get  out  of  his  room  ; for  the  blind 
impulse  which  urged  him  to  wander  in  his  sleep  he 
could  not  resist.  The  old  man  became  seriously  ill  ; he 
did  not  speak  ; he  took  but  little  nourishment  ; and  lay 
staring  before  him  with  the  reflection  of  death  in  his  set 
eyes,  just  as  if  he  were  clasped  in  the  vice-like  grip  of 

some  hideous  thought.  V believed  he  would  never 

rise  from  his  bed  again. 


3°8 


THE  ENTAIL. 


V  had  done  all  that  could  be  done  for  his  client  ; 

and  he  could  now  only  await  the  result  in  patience ; 

and  so  he  resolved  to  return  to  K . His  departure 

was  fixed  for  the  following  morning.  As  he  was  pack- 
ing his  papers  together  late  at  night,  he  happened  to 
lay  his  hand  upon  a little  sealed  packet  which  Freiherr 
Hubert  von  R had  given  him,  bearing  the  inscrip- 

tion, “ To  be  read  after  my  will  has  been  opened,”  and 
which  by  some  unaccountable  means  had  hitherto  es- 
caped his  notice.  He  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  the 
seal  when  the  door  opened  and  Daniel  came  in  with 
still,  ghostlike  step.  Placing  upon  the  table  a black 
portfolio  which  he  carried  under  his  arm,  he  sank  upon 

his  knees  with  a deep  groan,  and  grasping  V ’s 

hands  with  a convulsive  clutch  he  said,  in  a voice  so 
hollow  and  hoarse  that  it  seemed  to  come  from  the  bot- 
tom of  a grave,  “ I should  not  like  to  die  on  the  scaf- 
fold ! There  is  One  above  who  judges  ! ” Then,  rising 
with  some  trouble  and  with  many  painful  gasps,  he  left 
the  room  as  he  had  come. 

V  spent  the  whole  of  the  night  in  reading  what 

the  black  portfolio  and  Hubert’s  packet  contained. 
Both  agreed  in  all  circumstantial  particulars,  and  sug- 
gested naturally  what  further  steps  were  to  be  taken. 

On  arriving  at  K , V immediately  repaired  to 

Freiherr  Hubert  von  R , who  received  him  with 

ill-mannered  pride.  But  the  remarkable  result  of  the 
interview,  which  began  at  noon  and  lasted  on  without 
interruption  until  late  at  night,  was  that  the  next  day 
the  Freiherr  made  a declaration  before  the  court  to  the 
effect  that  he  acknowledged  the  claimant  to  be,  agreea- 
bly to  his  father’s  will,  the  son  of  Wolfgang  von  R , 

eldest  son  of  Freiherr  Roderick  von  R , and  begot- 

ten in  lawful  wedlock  with  Mdlle.  Julia  de  St.  Val,  and 
furthermore  acknowledged  him  as  rightful  and  legiti- 


THE  ENTAIL. 


309 


mate  heir  to  the  entail.  On  leaving  the  court  he  found 
his  carriage,  with  post-horses,  standing  before  the  door  ; 
he  stepped  in  and  was  driven  off  at  a rapid  rate,  leav- 
ing his  mother  and  his  sister  behind  him.  They  would 
perhaps  never  see  him  again,  he  wrote,  along  with 
other  perplexing  statements.  Roderick’s  astonishment 
at  this  unexpected  turn  which  the  case  had  taken  was 

very  great  ; he  pressed  V to  explain  to  him  how 

this  wonder  had  been  brought  about,  what  mysterious 

power  was  at  work  in  the  matter.  V , however, 

evaded  his  questions  by  giving  him  hopes  of  telling  him 
all  at  some  future  time,  and  when  he  should  have  come 
into  possession  of  the  estate.  For  the  surrender  of  the 
entail  to  him  could  not  be  effected  immediately,  since 
the  court,  not  content  with  Hubert’s  declaration,  re- 
quired that  Roderick  should  also  first  prove  his  own 

identity  to  their  satisfaction.  V proposed  to  the 

Baron  that  he  should  go  and  live  at  R — sitten,  adding 
that  Hubert’s  mother  and  sister,  momentarily  embar- 
rassed by  his  sudden  departure,  would  prefer  to  go  and 
live  quietly  on  the  ancestral  property  rather  than  stay 
in  the  dear  and  noisy  town.  The  glad  delight  with 
which  Roderick  welcomed  the  prospect  of  dwelling,  at 
least  for  a time,  under  the  same  roof  with  the  Baroness 
and  her  daughter,  betrayed  the  deep  impression  which 
the  lovely  and  graceful  Seraphina  had  made  upon  him. 
In  fact,  the  Freiherr  made  such  good  use  of  his  time 
in  R — sitten  that,  at  the  end  of  a few  weeks,  he  had 
won  Seraphina’s  love  as  well  as  her  mother’s  cordial 
approval  of  her  marriage  with  him.  All  this  was  for 

V rather  too  quick  work,  since  Roderick’s  claims 

to  be  lord  of  the  entail  still  continued  to  be  rather 
doubtful.  The  life  of  idyllic  happiness  at  the  castle 
was  interrupted  by  letters  from  Courland.  Hubert  had 
not  shown  himself  at  all  at  the  estates,  but  had  travelled 


3io 


THE  ENTAIL. 


direct  to  St.  Petersburg,  where  he  had  taken  military' 
service  and  was  now  in  the  field  against  the  Persians, 
with  whom  Russia  happened  to  be  just  then  waging 
war.  This  obliged  the  Baroness  and  her  daughter  to 
set  off  immediately  for  their  Courland  estates,  where 
everything  was  in  confusion  and  disorder.  Roderick, 
who  regarded  himself  in  the  light  of  an  accepted  son- 
in-law,  insisted  upon  accompanying  his  beloved  ; and 

hence,  since  V- likewise  returned  to  K , the 

castle  was  left  in  its  previous  loneliness.  The  house- 
steward’s  malignant  complaint  grew  worse  and  worse, 
so  that  he  gave  up  all  hopes  of  ever  getting  about  again  ; 
and  his  office  was  conferred  upon  an  old  chasseur , 
Francis  by  name,  Wolfgang’s  faithful  servant. 

At  last,  after  long  waiting,  V received  from  Swit- 

zerland information  of  the  most  favourable  character. 
The  priest  who  had  married  Roderick  was  long  since 
dead  ; but  there  was  found  in  the  church  register  a 
memorandum  in  his  hand  writing,  to  the  effect  that  the 
man  of  the  name  of  Born,  whom  he  had  joined  in  the 
bonds  of  wedlock  with  Mdlle.  Julia  de  St. Val,  had  estab- 
lished completely  to  his  satisfaction  his  identity  as  Frei- 
herr Wolfgang  von  R -,  eldest  son  of  Freiherr  Roder- 
ick von  R of  R — sitten.  Besides  this,  two  witnesses 

of  the  marriage  had  been  discovered,  a merchant  of  Gen- 
eva and  an  old  French  captain,  who  had  moved  to 
Lyons  ; to  them  also  Wolfgang  had  in  confidence  stated 
his  real  name  ; and  their  affidavits  confirmed  the  priest’s 
notice  in  the  church  register.  With  these  memoranda 
in  his  hands,  drawn  up  with  proper  legal  formalities, 
V now  succeeded  in  securing  his  client  in  the  com- 

plete possession  of  his  rights  ; and  as  there  was  now  no 
longer  any  hindrance  to  the  surrender  to  him  of  the 
entail,  it  was  to  be  put  into  his  hands  in  the  ensuing 
autumn.  Hubert  had  fallen  in  his  very  first  engage- 


THE  ENTAIL. 


3” 


ment,  thus  sharing  the  fate  of  his  younger  brother,  who 
had  likewise  been  slain  in  battle  a year  before  his 
father’s  death.  Thus  the  Courland  estates  fell  to  Bar- 
oness Seraphina  von  R , and  made  a handsome 

dowry  for  her  to  take  to  the  too  happy  Roderick. 

November  had  already  come  in  when  the  Baron- 
ess, along  with  Roderick  and  his  betrothed,  arrived  at 
R — sitten.  The  formal  surrender  of  the  estate-tail  to 
the  young  Baron  took  place,  and  then  his  marriage  with 
Seraphina  was  solemnised.  Many  weeks  passed  amid 
a continual  whirl  of  pleasure  ; but  at  length  the  wearied 
guests  began  gradually  to  depart  from  the  castle,  to 

V ’s  great  satisfaction,  for  he  had  made  up  his  mind 

not  to  take  his  leave  of  R— sitten  until  he  had  initiated 
the  young  lord  of  the  entail  in  all  the  relations  and 
duties  connected  with  his  new  position  down  to  the 
minutest  particulars.  Roderick’s  uncle  had  kept  an 
account  of  all  revenues  and  disbursements  with  the 
most  detailed  accuracy  ; hence,  since  Hubert  had  only 
retained  a small  sum  annually  for  his  own  support,  the 
surplus  revenues  had  all  gone  to  swell  the  capital  left 
by  the  old  Freiherr,  till  the  total  now  amounted  to  a 
considerable  sum.  Hubert  had  only  employed  the  in- 
come of  the  entail  for  his  own  purposes  during  the  first 
three  years,  but  to  cover  this  he  had  given  a mortgage 
on  the  security  of  his  share  of  the  Courland  property. 

From  the  time  when  old  Daniel  had  revealed  himself 

to  V as  a somnambulist,  V had  chosen  old 

Roderick’s  bed-room  for  his  own  sitting-room,  in  order 
that  he  might  the  more  securely  gather  from  the  old 
man  what  he  afterwards  voluntarily  disclosed.  Hence 
it  was  in  this  room  and  in  the  adjoining  great  hall  that 

the  Freiherr  transacted  business  with  V . Once 

they  were  both  sitting  at  the  great  table  by  the  bright 
blazing  fire  ; V had  his  pen  in  his  hand,  and  was 


312 


THE  ENTAIL. 


noting  down  various  totals  and  calculating  the  riches  of 
the  lord  of  the  entail,  whilst  the  latter,  leaning  his  head 
on  his  hand,  was  blinking  at  the  open  account-books 
and  formidable-looking  documents.  Neither  of  them 
heard  the  hollow  roar  of  the  sea,  nor  the  anxious  cries 
of  the  sea-gulls  as  they  dashed  against  the  window- 
panes,  flapping  their  wings  and  flying  backwards  and 
forwards,  announcing  the  oncoming  storm.  Neither  of 
them  heeded  the  storm,  which  arose  about  midnight, 
and  was  now  roaring  and  raging  with  wild  fury  round 
the  castle  walls,  so  that  all  the  sounds  of  ill  omen  in  the 
fire-grates  and  narrow  passages  awoke,  and  began  to 
whistle  and  shriek  in  a weird,  unearthly  way.  At  length, 
after  a terrific  blast,  which  made  the  whole  castle  shake, 
the  hall  was  completely  lit  up  by  the  murky  glare  of  the 

full  moon,  and  V exclaimed,  “Awful  weather!” 

The  Freiherr,  quite  absorbed  in  the  consideration  of 
the  wealth  which  had  fallen  to  him,  replied  indifferently, 
as  he  turned  over  a page  of  the  receipt-book  with  a sat- 
isfied smile,  “It  is  indeed;  very  stormy ! ” But,  as  if 
clutched  by  the  icy  hand  of  Dread,  he  started  to  his 
feet  as  the  door  of  the  hall  flew  open  and  a pale  spec- 
tral figure  became  visible,  striding  in  with  the  stamp  of 
death  upon  its  face.  It  was  Daniel,  who,  lying  helpless 
under  the  power  of  disease,  was  deemed  in  the  opinion 

of  V as  of  everybody  else  incapable  of  the  ability 

to  move  a single  limb  ; but,  again  coming  under  the 
influence  of  his  propensity  to  wander  in  his  sleep  at 
full  moon,  he  had,  it  appeared,  been  unable  to  resist  it. 
The  Freiherr  stared  at  the  old  man  without  uttering  a 
sound  ; and  when  Daniel  began  to  scratch  at  the  wall, 
and  moan  as  though  in  the  painful  agonies  of  death, 
Roderick’s  heart  was  filled  with  horrible  dread.  With 
his  face  ashy  pale  and  his  hair  standing  straight  on  end, 
he  leapt  to  his  feet  and  strode  towards  the  old  man  in  a 


THE  ENTAIL. 


313 


threatening  attitude  and  cried  in  a loud  firm  voice,  so 
that  the  hall  rang  again,  “ Daniel,  Daniel,  what  are  you 
doing  here  at  this  hour?”  Then  the  old  man  uttered 
that  same  unearthly  howling  whimper,  like  the  death- 
cry  of  a wounded  animal,  which  he  had  uttered  when 
Wolfgang  had  offered  to  rewrard  his  fidelity  with  gold  ; 

and  he  fell  down  on  the  floor.  V summoned  the 

servants  ; they  raised  the  old  man  up  ; but  all  attempts 
to  restore  animation  proved  fruitless.  Then  the  Frei- 
herr cried,  almost  beside  himself,  “ Good  God  ! Good 
God  ! Now  I remember  to  have  heard  that  a sleep- 
walker may  die  on  the  spot  if  anybody  calls  him  by  his 
name.  Oh  ! oh  ! unfortunate  wretch  that  I am  ! I have 
killed  the  poor  old  man ! I shall  never  more  have  a 
peaceful  moment  so  long  as  I live.”  When  the  ser- 
vants had  carried  the  corpse  away  and  the  hall  was 

again  empty,  V took  the  Freiherr,  who  was  still 

continuing  his  self-reproaches,  by  the  hand  and  led  him 
in  impressive  silence  to  the  walled-up  postern,  and  said, 
“The  man  who  fell  down  dead  at  your  feet,  Freiherr 
Roderick,  was  the  atrocious  murderer  of  your  father.” 

The  Freiherr  fixed  his  staring  eyes  upon  V as 

though  he  saw  the  foul  fiends  of  hell.  But  V went 

on,  “ The  time  has  come  now  for  me  to  reveal  to  you 
the  hideous  secret  which,  weighing  upon  the  conscience 
of  this  monster  and  burthening  him  with  curses,  com- 
pelled him  to  roam  abroad  in  his  sleep.  The  Eternal 
Power  has  seen  fit  to  make  the  son  take  vengeance 
upon  the  murderer  of  his  father.  The  words  which 
you  thundered  in  the  ears  of  that  fearful  night-wralker 
were  the  last  words  which  your  unhappy  father  spoke.” 

V sat  down  in  front  of  the  fire,  and  the  Freiherr, 

trembling  and  unable  to  utter  a word,  took  his  seat  be- 
side him.  V began  to  tell  him  the  contents  of  the 

document  which  Hubert  had  left  behind  him,  and  the 


3 1 4 


THE  ENTAIL. 


seal  of  which  he  (V ) was  not  to  break  until  after 

the  opening  of  the  will.  Hubert  lamented,  in  expres- 
sions testifying  to  the  deepest  remorse,  the  implacable 
hatred  against  his  elder  brother  which  took  root  in  him 
from  the  moment  that  old  Roderick  established  the  en- 
tail. He  was  deprived  of  all  weapons  ; for,  even  if  he 
succeeded  in  maliciously  setting  the  son  at  variance 
with  the  father,  it  would  serve  no  purpose,  since  even 
Roderick  himself  had  not  the  power  to  deprive  his 
eldest  son  of  his  birth-right,  nor  would  he  on  principle 
have  ever  done  so,  no  matter  how  his  affections  had 
been  alienated  from  him.  It  was  only  when  Wolfgang 
formed  his  connection  with  Julia  de  St.  Val  in  Geneva 
that  Hubert  saw  his  way  to  effecting  his  brother’s  ruin. 
And  that  was  the  time  when  he  came  to  an  understand- 
ing with  Daniel,  to  provoke  the  old  man  by  villainous 
devices  to  take  measures  which  should  drive  his  son  to 
despair. 

He  was  well  aware  of  old  Roderick’s  opinion  that 
the  only  way  to  ensure  an  illustrious  future  for  the 
family  to  all  subsequent  time  was  by  means  of  an  alli- 
ance with  one  of  the  oldest  families  in  the  country. 
The  old  man  had  read  this  alliance  in  the  stars,  and 
any  pernicious  derangement  of  the  constellation  would 
only  entail  destruction  upon  the  family  he  had  founded. 
In  this  way  it  was  that  Wolfgang’s  union  with  Julia 
seemed  to  the  old  man  like  a sinful  crime,  committed 
against  the  ordinances  of  the  Power  which  had  stood 
by  him  in  all  his  worldly  undertakings  ; and  any  means 
that  might  be  employed  for  Julia’s  ruin  he  would  have 
regarded  as  justified  for  the  same  reason,  for  Julia  had, 
he  conceived,  ranged  herself  against  him  like  some 
demoniacal  principle.  Hubert  knew  that  his  brother 
loved  Julia  passionately,  almost  to  madness  in  fact,  and 
that  the  loss  of  her  would  infallibly  make  him  miserable, 


THE  ENTAIL. 


31S 


perhaps  kill  him.  And  Hubert  was  all  the  more  ready 
to  assist  the  old  man  in  his  plans  as  he  had  himself  con- 
ceived an  unlawful  affection  for  Julia,  and  hoped  to  win 
her  for  himself.  It  was,  however,  determined  by  a 
special  dispensation  of  Providence  that  all  attacks,  even 
the  most  virulent,  were  to  be  thwarted  by  Wolfgang’s 
resoluteness ; nay,  that  he  should  contrive  to  deceive 
his  brother  : the  fact  that  his  marriage  was  actually 
solemnised  and  that  of  the  birth  of  a son  were  kept 
secret  from  Hubert.  In  Roderick’s  mind  also  there 
occurred,  along  with  the  presentiment  of  his  approach- 
ing death,  the  idea  that  Wolfgang  had  really  married 
the  Julia  who  was  so  hostile  to  him.  In  the  letter 
which  commanded  his  son  to  appear  at  R— sitten  on  a 
given  day  to  take  possession  of  the  entail,  he  cursed  him 
if  he  did  not  sever  his  connection  with  her.  This  was 
the  letter  that  Wolfgang  burnt  beside  his  father’s  corpse. 

To  Hubert  the  old  man  wrote,  saying  that  Wolf- 
gang had  married  Julia,  but  that  he  would  Dart  from 
her.  This  Hubert  took  to  be  a tancy  of  his  visionary 
father’s  ; accordingly  he  was  not  a little  dismayed  when 
on  reaching  R — sitten  Wolfgang  with  perfect  frankness 
not  only  confirmed  the  old  man’s  supposition,  but  also 
went  on  to  add  that  Julia  had  borne  him  a son,  and  that 
he  hoped  in  a short  time  to  surprise  her  with  the  pleas- 
ant intelligence  of  his  high  rank  and  great  wealth,  for 
she  had  hitherto  taken  him  for  Born,  a merchant  from 

M . He  intended  going  to  Geneva  himself  to  fetch 

his  beloved  wife.  But  before  he  could  carry  out  this 
plan  he  was  overtaken  by  death.  Hubert  carefully 
concealed  what  he  knew  about  the  existence  of  a son 
born  to  Wolfgang  in  lawful  wedlock  with  Julia,  and  so 
usurped  the  property  that  really  belonged  to  his  nephew. 
But  only  a few  years  passed  before  he  became  a prey 
to  bitter  remorse.  He  was  reminded  of  his  guilt  in 


3i6 


THE  ENTAIL. 


terrible  wise  by  destiny,  in  the  hatred  which  grew  up 
and  developed  more  and  more  between  his  two  sons. 
“ You  are  a poor  starving  beggar  ! ” said  the  elder,  a boy 
of  twelve,  to  the  younger,  “but  I shall  be  lord  of 
R — sitten  when  father  dies,  and  then  you  will  have  to 
be  humble  and  kiss  my  hand  when  you  want  me  to 
give  you  money  to  buy  a new  coat.”  The  younger, 
goaded  to  ungovernable  fury  by  his  brother’s  proud 
and  scornful  words,  threw  the  knife  at  him  which  he 
happened  to  have  in  his  hand,  and  almost  killed  him. 
Hubert,  for  fear  of  some  dire  misfortune,  sent  the 
younger  away  to  St.  Petersburg  ; and  he  served  after- 
wards as  officer  under  Suwaroff,  and  fell  fighting 
against  the  French.  Hubert  was  prevented  revealing 
to  the  world  the  dishonest  and  deceitful  way  in  which 
he  had  acquired  possession  of  the  estate-tail  by  the 
shame  and  disgrace  which  would  have  come  upon  him  ; 
but  he  would  not  rob  the  rightful  owner  of  a single 
penny  more.  He  caused  inquiries  to  be  set  on  foot  in 
Geneva,  and  learned  that  Madame  Born  had  died  of 
grief  at  the  incomprehensible  disappearance  of  her  hus- 
band, but  that  young  Roderick  Born  was  being  brought 
up  by  a worthy  man  who  had  adopted  him.  Hubert 
then  caused  himself  to  be  introduced  under  an  assumed 
name  as  a relative  of  Born  the  merchant,  who  had 
perished  at  sea,  and  he  forwarded  at  given  times  suffi- 
cient sums  of  money  to  give  the  young  heir  of  entail 
a good  and  respectable  education.  How  he  carefully 
treasured  up  the  surplus  revenues  from  the  estate,  and 
how  he  drew  up  the  terms  of  his  will,  we  already  know. 
Respecting  his  brother’s  death,  Hubert  spoke  in 
strangely  obscure  terms,  but  they  allowed  this  much  to 
be  inferred,  that  there  must  be  some  mystery  about  it, 
and  that  he  had  taken  part,  indirectly,  at  least,  in  some 
heinous  crime.  


THE  ENTAIL. 


3*7 


The  contents  of  the  black  portfolio  made  everything 
clear.  Along  with  Hubert’s  traitorous  correspondence 
with  Daniel  was  a sheet  of  paper  written  and  signed  by 

Daniel.  V read  a confession  at  which  his  very 

soul  trembled,  appalled.  It  was  at  Daniel’s  instigation 
that  Hubert  had  come  to  R — sitten  ; and  it  was  Daniel 
again  who  had  written  and  told  him  about  the  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  thalers  that  had  been  found. 
It  has  been  already  described  how  Hubert  was  received 
by  his  brother,  and  how,  deceived  in  all  his  hopes  and 
wishes,  he  was  about  to  go  off  when  he  was  prevented 

by  V . Daniel’s  heart  was  tortured  by  an  insatiable 

thirst  for  vengeance,  which  he  was  determined  to  take 
on  the  young  man  who  had  proposed  to  kick  him  out 
like  a mangy  cur.  He  it  was  who  relentlessly  and 
incessantly  fanned  the  flame  of  passion  by  which 
Hubert’s  desperate  heart  was  consumed.  Whilst  in 
the  fir  forests  hunting  wolves,  out  in  the  midst  of  a 
blinding  snowstorm,  they  agreed  to  effect  his  destruc- 
tion. “ Make  away  with  him  ! ” murmured  Hubert, 
looking  askance  and  taking  aim  with  his  rifle.  “Yes, 
make  away  with  him,”  snarled  Daniel,  “ but  not  in 
that  way , not  in  that  way!”  And  he  made  the  most 
solemn  asseverations  that  he  would  murder  the  Freiherr 
and  not  a soul  in  the  world  should  be  the  wiser.  When, 
however,  Hubert  had  got  his  money,  he  repented  of  the 
plot  ; he  determined  to  go  away  in  order  to  shun  all 
further  temptation.  Daniel  himself  saddled  his  horse 
and  brought  it  out  of  the  stable  ; but  as  the  Baron 
was  about  to  mount,  Daniel  said  to  him  in  a sharp, 
strained  voice,  “ I thought  you  would  stay  on  the 
entail,  Freiherr  Hubert,  now  that  it  has  just  fallen  to 
you,  for  the  proud  lord  of  the  entail  lies  dashed  to 
pieces  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  below  the  tower.” 
The  steward  had  observed  that  Wolfgang,  tormented 


THE  ENTAIL . 


3l8 

by  his  thirst  for  gold,  often  used  to  rise  in  the  night, 
go  to  the  postern  which  formerly  led  to  the  tower,  and 
stand  gazing  with  longing  eyes  down  into  the  chasm, 
where,  according  to  his  (Daniel’s)  testimony,  vast  treas- 
ures lay  buried.  Relying  upon  this  habit,  Daniel 
waited  near  the  hall-door  on  that  ill-omened  night  ; 
and  as  soon  as  he  heard  the  Freiherr  open  the  postern 
leading  to  the  tower,  he  entered  the  hall  and  proceeded 
to  where  the  Freiherr  was  standing,  close  by  the  brink 
of  the  chasm.  On  becoming  aware  of  the  presence  of 
his  villainous  servant,  in  whose  eyes  the  gleam  of  mur- 
der shone,  the  Freiherr  turned  round  and  said  with  a cry 
of  terror,  “ Daniel,  Daniel,  what  are  you  doing  here  at 
this  hour  ? ” But  then  Daniel  shrieked  wildly,  “ Down 
with  you,  you  mangy  cur ! ” and  with  a powerful  push 
of  his  foot  he  hurled  the  unhappy  man  over  into  the 
deep  chasm. 

Terribly  agitated  by  this  awful  deed,  Freiherr  Rode- 
rick found  no  peace  in  the  castle  where  his  father  had 
been  murdered.  Fte  went  to  his  Courland  estates, 
and  only  visited  R — sitten  once  a year,  in  autumn. 
Francis — old  Francis — who  had  strong  suspicions  as 
to  Daniel’s  guilt,  maintained  that  he  often  haunted  the 
place  at  full  moon,  and  described  the  nature  of  the 

apparition  much  as  V afterwards  experienced  it 

for  himself  when  he  exorcised  it.  It  was  the  disclosure 
of  these  circumstances,  also,  which  stamped  his  father’s 
memory  with  dishonour,  that  had  driven  young  Frei- 
herr Hubert  out  into  the  world. 

This  was  my  old  great-uncle’s  story.  Now  he  took 
my  hand,  and  whilst  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  he  said, 
in  a broken  voice,  “ Cousin,  cousin  ! And  she  too — the 
beautiful  lady — has  fallen  a victim  to  the  dark  destiny, 
the  grim,  mysterious  power  which  has  established 
itself  in  that  old  ancestral  castle.  Two  days  after  we 


THE  ENTAIL. 


30 


left  R — sitten  the  Freiherr  arranged  an  excursion  on 
sledges  as  the  concluding  event  of  the  visit.  He  drove 
his  wife  himself  ; but  as  they  were  going  down  the 
valley  the  horses,  for  some  unexplained  reason,  sud- 
denly taking  fright,  began  to  snort  and  kick  and 
plunge  most  savagely.  ‘ The  old  man  ! The  old  man 
is  after  us  ! ’ screamed  the  Baroness  in  a shrill,  terrified 
voice.  At  this  same  moment  the  sledge  was  overturned 
with  a violent  jerk,  and  the  Baroness  was  hurled  to  a 
considerable  distance.  They  picked  her  up  lifeless — 
she  was  quite  dead.  The  Freiherr  is  perfectly  incon- 
solable, and  has  settled  down  into  a state  of  passivity 
that  will  kill  him.  We  shall  never  go  to  R — sitten 
again,  cousin  ! ” 

Here  my  uncle  paused.  As  I left  him  my  heart  was 
rent  by  emotion  ; and  nothing  but  the  all-soothing 
hand  of  Time  could  assuage  the  deep  pain  which  I 
feared  would  cost  me  my  life. 

Years  passed.  V was  resting  in  his  grave,  and  I 

had  left  my  native  country.  Then  I was  driven  north- 
wards, as  far  as  St.  Petersburg,  by  the  devastating  war 
which  was  sweeping  over  all  Germany.  On  my  return 

journey,  not  far  from  K , I was  driving  one  dark 

summer  night  along  the  shore  of  the  Baltic,  when  I 
perceived  in  the  sky  before  me  a remarkably  large 
bright  star.  On  coming  nearer  I saw  by  the  red 
flickering  flame  that  what  I had  taken  for  a star  must 
be  a large  fire,  but  could  not  understand  how  it  could 
be  so  high  up  in  the  air.  “ Postilion,  what  fire  is  that 
before  us  yonder  ? ” I asked  the  man  who  was  driving 
me.  “ Oh  ! why,  that’s  not  a fire ; it’s  the  beacon 
tower  of  R — sitten.”  “R — sitten!”  Directly  the  pos- 
tillion rfl^ioned  the  name  all  the  experiences  of  the 
eventful  autumn  days  which  I had  spent  there  recurred 
to  my  mind  with  lifelike  reality.  I saw  the  Baron — 


32° 


THE  ENTAIL. 


Seraphina— and  also  the  remarkably  eccentric  old 
aunts — myself  as  well,  with  my  bare  milk-white  face, 
my  hair  elegantly  curled  and  powdered,  and  wearing 
a delicate  sky-blue  coat — nay,  I saw  myself  in  my 
love-sick  folly,  sighing  like  a furnace,  and  making 
lugubrious  odes  on  my  mistress’s  eyebrows.  The 
sombre,  melancholy  mood  into  which  these  memories 
plunged  me  was  relieved  by  the  bright  recollection 

of  V ’s  genial  jokes,  shooting  up  like  flashes  of 

coloured  light,  and  I found  them  now  still  more 
entertaining  than  they  had  been  so  long  ago.  Thus 
agitated  by  pain  mingled  with  much  peculiar  pleasure, 
I reached  R — sitten  early  in  the  morning  and  got  out 
of  the  coach  in  front  of  the  post-house,  where  it  had 
stopped.  I recognised  the  house  as  that  of  the  land- 
steward  ; I inquired  after  him.  “ Begging  your  pardon,” 
said  the  clerk  of  the  post-house,  taking  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth  and  giving  his  night-cap  a tilt,  “begging 
your  pardon  ; there  is  no  land-steward  here  ; this  is  a 
Royal  Government  office,  and  the  Herr  Administrator 
is  still  asleep.”  On  making  further  inquiries  I learnt 

that  Freiherr  Roderick  von  R , the  last  lord  of  the 

entail,  had  died  sixteen  years  before  without  descend- 
ants, and  that  the  entail  in  accordance  with  the  terms 
of  the  original  deeds  had  now  escheated  to  the  state. 
I went  up  to  the  castle  ; it  was  a mere  heap  of  ruins. 
I was  informed  by  an  old  peasant,  who  came  out  of  the 
fir-forest,  and  with  whom  I entered  into  conversation, 
that  a large  portion  of  the  stones  had  been  employed 
in  the  construction  of  the  beacon-tower.  He  also 
could  tell  the  story  of  the  ghost  which  was  said  to 
have  haunted  the  castle,  and  he  affirmed  that  people 
often  heard  unearthly  cries  and  lamentations  amongst 
the  stones,  especially  at  full  moon. 


THE  ENTAIL. 


321 


Poor  short-sighted  old  Roderick ! What  a malignant 
destiny  did  you  conjure  up  to  destroy  with  the  breath 
of  poison,  in  the  first  moments  of  its  growth,  that  race 
which  you  intended  to  plant  with  firm  roots  to  last  on 
till  eternity ! 


ARTHURS  HALL.1 2 


OU  must  of  course,  indulgent  reader,  have  heard  a 


good  deal  about  the  remarkable  old  commercial 
town  of  Dantzic.  Perhaps  you  may  be  acquainted  from 
abundant  descriptions  with  all  the  sights  to  be  seen 
there  ; but  I should  like  it  best  of  all  if  you  have  ever 
been  there  yourself  in  former  times,  and  seen  with  your 
own  eyes  the  wonderful  hall  into  which  I will  now 
take  you — I mean  Arthur’s  Hall.3 

At  the  hour  of  noon  the  hall  rvas  crammed  full  of 
men  of  the  most  diverse  nations,  all  pushing  about  and 
immersed  to  the  eyes  in  business,  so  that  the  ears  were 
deafened  by  the  confused  din.  But  when  the  exchange 
hours  were  over,  and  the  merchants  had  gone  to  dinner, 
and  only  a few  odd  individuals  hurried  through  the  hall 
on  business  (for  it  served  as  a means  of  communication 
between  two  streets),  that  I dare  say  was  the  time  when 
you,  gracious  reader,  liked  to  visit  Arthur’s  Hall  best, 

1 Written  for  the  Urania  for  1817. 

2 The  A rtushof  or  J unker liof  derives  its  names  from  its  connection 
with  the  Arthurian  cycle  of  legends,  and  from  the  fact  that  there  the 
Stadtjunker , or  wealthy  merchants  of  Dantzic,  used  formerly  to  meet 
both  to  transact  business  and  for  the  celebration  of  festive  occasions. 

It  has  been  used  as  an  exchange  since  1742.  The  site  of  the  present 
building  was  occupied  by  a still  older  one  down  to  1552,  and  to  this 
the  hall,  which  is  vaulted  and  supported  on  four  slender  pillars  of 
granite,  belongs  architecturally.  It  was  very  quaintly  decorated  with 
pictures,  statues,  reliefs,  &c.,  both  of  Christian  and  Pagan  traditions. 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


323 


whenever  you  were  in  Dantzic.  For  then  a kind  of 
magical  twilight  fell  through  the  dim  windows,  and  all 
the  strange  reliefs  and  carvings,  with  which  the  wall 
was  too  profusely  decorated,  became  instinct  with  life 
and  motion.  Stags  with  immense  antlers,  together  with 
other  wonderful  animals,  gazed  down  upon  you  with 
their  fiery  eyes  till  you  could  hardly  look  at  them  ; 
and  the  marble  statue  of  the  king,  also  in  the  midst  of 
the  hall,  caused  you  to  shiver  more  in  proportion  as  the 
dusk  of  evening  deepened.  The  great  picture  rep- 
resenting an  assemblage  of  all  the  Virtues  and  Vices, 
with  their  respective  names  attached,  lost  perceptibly 
in  moral  effect  ; for  the  Virtues,  being  high  up,  were 
blended  unrecognisably  in  a grey  mist,  whilst  the  Vices 
— wondrously  beautiful  ladies  in  gay  and  brilliant  cos- 
tumes— stood  out  prominently  and  very  seductively, 
threatening  to  enchant  you  with  their  sweet  soft  words. 
You  preferred  to  turn  your  eyes  upon  the  narrow  bor- 
der which  went  almost  all  round  the  hall,  and  on  which 
were  represented  in  pleasing  style  long  processions  of 
gay  uniformed  militia  of  the  olden  time,  when  Dantzic 
was  an  Imperial  town.  Honest  burgomasters,  their 
features  stamped  with  shrewdness  and  importance,  ride 
at  the  head  on  spirited  horses  with  handsome  trappings, 
whilst  the  drummers,  pipers,  and  halberdiers  march 
along  so  jauntily  and  life-like,  that  you  soon  begin  to 
hear  the  merry  music  they  play,  and  look  to  see  them 
all  defile  out  of  that  great  window  up  there  into  the 
Langemarkt.1 

While,  then,  they  are  marching  off,  you,  indulgent 
reader, — if  you  were,  that  is,  a tolerable  sketcher, — 
would  not  be  able  to  do  otherwise  than  copy  with  pen 
and  ink  yon  magnificent  burgomaster  with  his  remark- 


1 A broad  street  crossing  Dantzic  in  an  east-to-west  direction. 


324 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


ably  handsome  page.  Pen  and  ink  and  paper,  provided 
at  public  cost,  were  always  to  be  found  lying  about  on 
the  tables  ; accordingly  the  material  would  be  all  ready 
at  hand,  and  you  would  have  felt  the  temptation  irre- 
sistible. This  you  would  have  been  permitted  to  do, 
but  not  so  the  young  merchant  Traugott,  who,  on  be- 
ginning to  do  anything  of  this  kind,  encountered  a 
thousand  difficulties  and  vexations.  “Advise  our  friend 
in  Hamburg  at  once  that  that  business  has  been  settled, 
my  good  Herr  Traugott,”  said  the  wholesale  and  retail 
merchant,  Elias  Roos,  with  whom  Traugott  was  about 
to  enter  upon  an  immediate  partnership,  besides  marry- 
ing his  only  daughter,  Christina.  After  a little  trouble, 
Traugott  found  a place  at  one  of  the  crowded  tables  ; 
he  took  a sheet  of  paper,  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink,  and 
was  about  to  begin  with  a free  caligraphic  flourish, 
when,  running  over  once  more  in  his  mind  what  he 
wished  to  say,  he  cast  his  eyes  upwards.  Now  it  hap- 
pened that  he  sat  directly  opposite  a procession  of 
figures,  at  the  sight  of  which  he  was  always,  strangely 
enough,  affected  with  an  inexplicable  sadness.  A grave 
man,  with  something  of  dark  melancholy  in  his  face, 
and  with  a black  curly  beard  and  dressed  in  sumptuous 
clothing,  was  riding  a black  horse,  which  was  led  by 
the  bridle  by  a marvellous  youth  : his  rich  abundance 
of  hair  and  his  gay  and  graceful  costume  gave  him 
almost  a feminine  appearance.  The  face  and  form  of 
the  man  made  Traugott  shudder  inwardly,  but  a whole 
world  of  sweet  vague  aspirations  beamed  upon  him 
from  the  youth’s  countenance.  He  could  never  tear 
himself  away  from  looking  at  these  two  ; and  hence,  on 
the  present  occasion,  instead  of  writing  Herr  Elias 
Roos’s  letter  of  advice  to  Hamburg,  he  sat  gazing  at  the 
wonderful  picture,  absently  scribbling  all  over  his  paper. 
After  this  had  lasted  some  time,  a hand  clapped  him  on 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


325 


the  shoulder  from  behind,  and  a gruff  voice  said,  “ Nice 
— very  nice  ; that’s  what  I like  ; something  may  be  made 
of  that.”  Traugott,  awakening  out  of  his  dreamy  rev- 
erie, whisked  himself  round  ; but,  as  if  struck  by  a 
lightning  flash,  he  remained  speechless  with  amazement 
and  fright,  for  he  was  staring  up  into  the  face  of  the 
dark  melancholy  man  who  was  depicted  on  the  wall 
before  him.  He  it  was  who  uttered  the  words  stated 
above  ; at  his  side  stood  the  delicate  and  wonderfully 
beautiful  youth,  smiling  upon  him  with  indescribable 
affection.  “Yes,  it  is  they — the  very  same  ! ” was  the 
thought  that  flashed  across  Traugott’s  mind.  “I  ex- 
pect they  will  at  once  throw  off  their  unsightly  mantles 
and  stand  forth  in  all  the  splendours  of  their  antique 
costume.”  The  members  of  the  crowd  pushed  back- 
wards and  forwards  amongst  each  other,  and  the 
strangers  had  soon  disappeared  in*  the  crush  ; but  even 
after  the  hours  of  ’Change  were  long  over,  and  only  a 
few  odd  individuals  crossed  the  hall,  Traugott  still  re- 
mained in  the  self-same  place  with  the  letter  of  advice 
in  his  hand,  as  though  he  were  converted  into  a solid 
stone  statue. 

At  length  he  perceived  Herr  Elias  Roos  coming 
towards  him  with  two  strangers.  “ What  are  you  about, 
cogitating  here  so  long  after  noon,  my  respected  Herr 
Traugott?”  asked  Elias  Roos  ; “have  you  sent  off  the 
letter  all  right  ? ” Mechanically  Traugott  handed  him 
the  paper  ; but  Herr  Elias  Roos  struck  his  hands  to- 
gether above  his  head,  stamping  at  first  gently,  but 
then  violently,  with  his  right  foot,  as  he  cried,  making 
the  hall  ring  again,  “ Good  God  ! Good  God ! what 
childish  tricks  are  these  ? Nothing  but  sheer  childish- 
ness, my  respected  Traugott, — my  good-for-nothing 
son-in-law — my  imprudent  partner.  Why,  the  devil 
must  be  in  your  honour  ! The  letter — the  letter  ! O 


326 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


God  ! the  post ! ” Herr  Elias  Roos  was  almost  chok- 
ing with  vexation,  whilst  the  two  strangers  were  laugh- 
ing at  the  singular  letter  of  advice,  which  could  hardly 
be  said  to  be  of  much  use.  For,  immediately  after  the 
words,  “ In  reply  to  yours  of  the  20th  inst.  respecting 

” Traugott  had  sketched  the  two  extraordinary 

figures  of  the  old  man  and  the  youth  in  neat  bold  out- 
lines. The  two  strangers  sought  to  pacify  Herr  Elias 
Roos  by  addressing  him  in  the  most  affectionate  man- 
ner ; but  Herr  Elias  Roos  tugged  his  round  wig  now 
on  this  side  and  now  on  that,  struck  his  cane  against 
the  floor,  and  cried,  “ The  young  devil  ! — was  to  write 
letter  of  advice — makes  drawings — ten  thousand  marks 
gone — dam  ! ” He  blew  through  his  fingers  and  then 
went  on  lamenting,  “ Ten  thousand  marks  ! ” “ Don’t 

make  a trouble  of  it,  my  dear  Herr  Roos,”  said  at 
length  the  elder  of  the  two  strangers.  “ The  post  is  of 
course  gone  ; but  I am  sending  off  a courier  to  Ham- 
burg in  an  hour.  Let  me  give  him  your  letter,  and  it 
will  then  reach  its  destination  earlier  than  it  would 
have  done  by  the  post.”  “You  incomparable  man!” 
exclaimed  Herr  Elias,  his  face  a perfect  blaze  of  sun- 
shine. Traugott  had  recovered  from  his  awkward  em- 
barrassment ; he  was  hastening  to  the  table  to  write  the 
letter,  but  Herr  Elias  pushed  him  away,  casting  a right 
malicious  look  upon  him,  and  murmuring  between  his 
teeth,  “No  need  for  you,  my  good  son  ! ” 

Whilst  Herr  Elias  was  studiously  busy  writing,  the 
elder  gentleman  approached  young  Traugott,  who  was 
standing  silent  with  shame,  and  said  to  him,  “You 
don’t  seem  to  be  exactly  in  your  place,  my  good  sir. 
It  would  never  have  come  into  a true  merchant’s  head 
to  make  drawings  instead  of  writing  a business  letter 
as  he  ought.”  Traugott  could  not  help  feeling  that 
this  reproach  was  only  too  well  founded.  Much  em- 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


327 


barrassed,  he  replied,  “ By  my  soul,  this  hand  has 
already  written  many  admirable  letters  of  advice  ; it  is 
only  occasionally  that  such  confoundedly  odd  ideas 
come  into  my  mind.”  “ But,  my  good  sir,”  continued 
the  stranger  smiling,  “these  are  not  confoundedly  odd 
ideas  at  all.  I can  really  hardly  believe  that  all  your 
business  letters  taken  together  have  been  so  admirable 
as  these  sketches,  outlined  so  neatly  and  boldly  and 
firmly.  There  is,  I am  sure,  true  genius  in  them.” 
With  these  words  the  stranger  took  out  of  Traugott’s 
hand  the  letter — or  rather  what  was  begun  as  a letter 
but  had  ended  in  sketches — carefully  folded  it  together, 
and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  This  awakened  in  Traugott’s 
mind  the  firm  conviction  that  he  had  done  something 
far  more  excellent  than  write  a business  letter.  A 
strange  spirit  took  possession  of  him  ; so  that,  when 
Herr  Elias  Roos,  who  had  now  finished  writing,  ad- 
dressed him  in  an  angry  tone,  “Your  childish  folly 
might  have  cost  me  ten  thousand  marks,”  he  replied 
louder  and  with  more  decision  than  was  his  habit, 
“Will  your  worship  please  not  to  behave  in  such  an 
extraordinary  way,  else  I will  never  write  you  another 
letter  of  advice  so  long  as  I live,  and  we  will  separate.” 
Herr  Elias  pushed  his  wig  right  with  both  hands  and 
stammered,  as  he  stared  hard  at  Traugott,  “ My  esti- 
mable colleague,  my  dear,  dear  son,  what  proud  words 
you  are  using  ! ” The  old  gentleman  again  interposed, 
and  a few  words  sufficed  to  restore  perfect  peace  ; and 
so  they  all  went  to  Herr  Elias’s  house  to  dinner,  for  he 
had  invited  the  strangers  home  with  him.  Fair  Chris- 
tina received  them  in  holiday  attire,  all  clean  and  prim 
and  proper  ; and  soon  she  was  wielding  the  excessively 
heavy  silver  soup-ladle  with  a practised  hand. 

Whilst  these  five  persons  are  sitting  at  table,  I could, 
gracious  reader,  bring  them  pictorially  before  your 


328 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


eyes  ; but  I shall  only  manage  to  give  a few  general 
outlines,  and  those  certainly  worse  than  the  sketches 
which  Traugott  had  the  audacity  to  scribble  in  the  in- 
auspicious letter  ; for  the  meal  will  soon  be  over  ; and 
besides,  I am  urged  by  an  impulse  I cannot  resist  to  go 
on  with  the  remarkable  history  of  the  excellent  Trau- 
gott, which  I have  undertaken  to  relate  to  you. 

That  Herr  Elias  Roos  wears  a round  wig  you  already 
know  from  what  has  been  stated  above  ; and  I have  no 
need  to  add  anything  more  ; for  after  what  he  has  said, 
you  can  now  see  the  round  little  man  with  his  liver- 
coloured  coat,  waistcoat,  and  trousers,  with  gilt  buttons, 
quite  plainly  before  your  eyes.  Of  Traugott  I have  a 
very  great  deal  to  say,  because  this  is  his  history  which 
I am  telling,  and  so  of  course  he  occurs  in  it.  If  now 
it  be  true  that  a man’s  thoughts  and  feelings  and  ac- 
tions, making  their  influence  felt  from  within  him  out- 
wards, so  model  and  shape  his  bodily  form  as  to  give 
rise  to  that  wonderful  harmony  of  the  whole  man,  that 
is  not  to  be  explained  but  only  felt,  which  we  call  char- 
acter, then  my  words  will  of  themselves  have  already 
shown  you  Traugott  himself  in  the  flesh.  If  this  is  not 
the  case,  then  all  my  gossip  is  wasted,  and  you  may 
forthwith  regard  my  story  as  unread.  The  two  strangers 
are  uncle  and  nephew,  formerly  retail  dealers,  but  now 
merchants  trading  on  their  gains,  and  friends  of  Herr 
Elias  Roos,  that  is  to  say,  they  had  a good  many  busi- 
ness transactions  together.  They  live  at  Königsberg, 
dress  entirely  in  the  English  fashion,  carry  about  with 
them  a mahogany  boot-jack  which  has  come  from  Lon- 
don, possess  considerable  taste  for  art,  and  are,  in  a word, 
experienced,  well-educated  people.  The  uncle  has  a 
gallery  of  art  objects  and  collects  hand-sketches  (wit- 
ness the  pilfered  letter  of  advice). 

But  properly  my  chief  business  was  to  give  you, 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


329 


kindly  reader,  a true  and  life-like  description  of  Chris- 
tina ; for  her  nimble  person  will,  I observe,  soon  dis- 
appear ; and  it  will  be  as  well  for  me  to  get  a few  traits 
jotted  down  at  once.  Then  she  may  willingly  go ! 
Picture  to  yourself  a medium-sized  stoutish  female  of 
from  two  to  three  and  twenty  years  of  age,  with  a round 
face,  a short  and  rather  turned-up  nose,  and  friendly 
light-blue  eyes,  which  smile  most  prettily  upon  every- 
body, saying,  “I  shall  soon  be  married  now.”  Her 
skin  is  dazzling  white,  her  hair  is  not  altogether  of  a 
too  reddish  tinge  ; she  has  lips  which  were  certainly 
made  to  be  kissed,  and  a mouth  which,  though  indeed 
rather  wide,  she  yet  screws  up  small  in  some  extraor- 
dinary way,  but  so  as  to  display  then  two  rows  of  pearly 
teeth.  If  we  were  to  suppose  that  the  flames  from  the 
next-door  neighbour’s  burning  house  were  to  dart  in  at 
her  chamber-window,  she  would  make  haste  to  feed  the 
canary  and  lock  up  the  clean  linen  from  the  wash,  and 
then  assuredly  hasten  down  into  the  office  and  inform 
Herr  Elias  Roos  that  by  that  time  his  house  also  was 
on  fire.  She  has  never  had  an  almond-cake  spoilt,  and 
her  melted-butter  always  thickens  properly,  owing  to 
the  fact  that  she  never  stirs  the  spoon  round  towards 
the  left,  but  always  towards  the  right.  But  since  Herr 
Elias  Roos  has  poured  out  the  last  bumper  of  old  French 
wine,  I will  only  hasten  to  add  that  pretty  Christina  is 
uncommonly  fond  of  Traugott  because  he  is  going  to 
marry  her  ; for  what  in  the  name  of  wonder  should  she 
do  if  she  did  not  get  married  ? 

After  dinner  Herr  Elias  Roos  proposed  to  his  friends 
to  take  a walk  on  the  ramparts.  Although  Traugott, 
whose  mind  had  never  been  stirred  by  so  many  won- 
derful and  extraordinary  things  as  to-day,  would  very 
much  have  liked  to  escape  the  company,  he  could  not 
contrive  it ; for,  just  as  he  was  going  out  of  the  door, 


3 3° 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


without  having  even  kissed  his  betrothed’s  hand,  Herr 
Elias  caught  him  by  the  coat-tails,  crying,  “ My  hon- 
oured son-in-law,  my  good  colleague,  but  you’re  not 
going  to  leave  us  ? ” And  so  he  had  to  stay. 

A certain  professor  of  physics  once  stated  the  theory 
that  the  Anima  Mundi,  or  Spirit  of  the  World,  had,  as  a 
skilful  experimentalist,  constructed  somewhere  an  ex- 
cellent electric  machine,  and  from  it  proceed  certain 
very  mysterious  wires,  which  pass  through  the  lives  of 
us  all  ; these  we  do  our  best  to  creep  round  and  avoid, 
but  at  some  moment  or  other  we  must  tread  upon  them, 
and  then  there  passes  a flash  and  a shock  through  our 
souls,  suddenly  altering  the  forms  of  everything  within 
them.  Upon  this  thread  Traugott  must  surely  have 
trod  in  the  moment  that  he  was  unconsciously  sketching 
the  two  persons  who  stood  in  living  shape  behind  him, 
for  the  singular  appearance  of  the  strangers  had  struck 
him  with  all  the  violence  of  a lightning-flash  ; and  he 
now  felt  as  if  he  had  very  clear  conceptions  of  all  those 
things  which  he  had  hitherto  only  dimly  guessed  at 
and  dreamt  about.  The  shyness  which  at  other  times 
had  always  fettered  his  tongue  so  soon  as  the  conversa- 
tion turned  upon  things  which  lay  concealed  like  holy 
secrets  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  had  now  left  him ; 
and  hence  it  was  that,  when  the  uncle  attacked  the  curi- 
ous half-painted,  half-carved  pictures  in  Arthur’s  Hall 
as  wanting  in  taste,  and  then  proceeded  more  particu- 
larly to  condemn  the  little  pictures  representing  the 
soldiers  as  being  whimsical,  Traugott  boldly  maintained 
that,  although  it  was  very  likely  true  that  all  these 
things  did  not  harmonize  with  the  rules  of  good  taste, 
nevertheless  he  had  experienced,  what  indeed  several 
others  had  also  experienced,  viz.,  a wonderful  and  fan- 
tastic world  had  been  unfolded  to  him  in  Arthur’s 
Hall,  and  some  few  of  the  figures  had  reminded  him  in 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


331 


even  lifelike  looks,  nay,  even  in  plain  distinct  words, 
that  he  also  was  a great  master,  and  could  paint  and 
wield  the  chisel  as  well  as  the  man  out  of  whose  un- 
known studio  they  themselves  had  proceeded.  Herr 
Elias  certainly  looked  more  stupid  than  usual  whilst  the 
young  fellow  was  saying  such  grand  things,  but  the 
uncle  made  answer  in  a very  malicious  manner,  “ I repeat 
once  more,  I do  not  comprehend  why  you  want  to  be  a 
merchant,  why  you  haven’t  rather  devoted  yourself  ah 
together  to  art.” 

Traugott  conceived  an  extreme  repugnance  to  the 
man,  and  accordingly  he  joined  the  nephew  for  the 
walk,  and  found  his  manner  very  friendly  and  con- 
fidential. “ O Heaven  ! ” said  the  latter,  “ how  I 
envy  you  your  beautiful  and  glorious  talent  ! I wish 
I could  only  sketch  like  you  ! I am  not  at  all  wanting 
in  genius ; I have  already  sketched  some  deucedly 
pretty  eyes  and  noses  and  ears,  ay,  and  even  three  or 
four  entire  heads  ; — but,  dash  it  all ! the  business,  you 
know ! the  business ! ” “I  always  thought,”  said 
Traugott,  “that  as  soon  as  a man  detected  the  spark 
of  true  genius — of  a genuine  love  for  art — within  him, 
he  ought  not  to  know  anything  about  any  other  busi- 
ness.” “ You  mean  he  ought  to  be  an  artist ! ” re- 
joined the  nephew.  “ Ah  ! how  can  you  say  so  ? See 
you  here,  my  estimable  friend ! I have,  I believe, 
reflected  more  upon  these  things  than  many  others  ; 
in  fact,  I am  such  a decided  admirer  of  art,  and  have 
gone  into  the  real  essential  nature  of  the  thing  far 
deeper  than  I am  even  able  to  express,  and  so  I can 
only  make  use  of  hints  and  suggestions.”  The  nephew, 
as  he  expressed  these  opinions,  looked  so  learned  and 
so  profound  that  Traugott  really  began  to  feel  in  awe 
of  him.  “You  will  agree  with  me,”  continued  the 
nephew,  after  he  had  taken  a pinch  of  snuff  and  had 


332 


ARTHUR’S  HALL. 


sneezed  twice,  “you  will  agree  with  me  that  art  em- 
broiders our  life  with  flowers  ; amusement,  recreation 
after  serious  business — that  is  the  praiseworthy  end  of 
all  effort  in  art  ; and  the  attainment  of  this  end  is  the 
more  perfect  in  proportion  as  the  art  products  assume 
a nearer  approach  to  excellence.  This  end  is  very 
clearly  seen  in  life  ; for  it  is  only  the  man  who  pursues 
art  in  the  spirit  I have  just  mentioned  who  enjoys 
comfort  and  ease  ; whilst  these  for  ever  and  eternally 
flee  away  from  the  man  who,  directly  contrary  to  the 
nature  of  the  case,  regards  art  as  a true  end  in  itself — 
as  the  highest  aim  in  life.  And  co,  my  good  friend, 
don’t  take  to  heart  what  my  uncle  said  to  try  and 
persuade  you  to  turn  aside  from  the  serious  business 
of  life,  and  rely  upon  a way  of  employing  your  energies 
which,  if  without  support,  will  only  make  you  stagger 
about  like  a helpless  child.”  Here  the  nephew  paused 
as  if  expecting  Traugott’s  reply  ; but  Traugott  did  not 
know  for  the  life  of  him  what  he  ought  to  say.  All 
that  the  nephew  had  said  struck  him  as  indescribably 
stupid  talk.  He  contented  himself  with  asking,  “ But 
what  do  you  really  mean  by  the  serious  business  of 
life?”  The  nephew  looked  at  him  somewhat  taken 
aback.  “Well,  by  my  soul,  you  can’t  help  conceding 
to  me  that  a man  who  is  alive  must  live,  and  that’s 
what  your  artist  by  profession  hardly  ever  succeeds  in 
doing,  for  he’s  always  hard  up.”  And  he  went  on  with 
a long  rigmarole  of  bosh,  which  he  clothed  in  fine 
words  and  stereotyped  phrases.  The  end  of  it  all  ap- 
peared to  be  pretty  much  this — that  by  living  he  meant 
little  else  than  having  no  debts  but  plenty  of  money, 
plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  a beautiful  wife,  and  also  well- 
behaved  children,  who  never  got  any  grease-stains  on 
their  nice  Sunday-clothes,  and  so  on.  This  made  Trau- 
gott feel  a tightness  in  his  throat,  and  he  was  glad  when 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


333 


the  clever  nephew  left  him,  and  he  found  himself  alone 
in  his  own  room. 

“ What  a wretched  miserable  life  I lead,  to  be  sure  ! ” 
he  soliloquised.  “ On  beautiful  mornings  in  the 
glorious  golden  spring-time,  when  into  even  the  obscure 
streets  of  the  town  the  warm  west  wind  finds  its  way, 
and  its  faint  murmurings  and  rustlings  seem  to  be 
telling  of  all  the  wonders  which  are  to  be  seen  bloom- 
ing in  the  woods  and  fields,  then  I have  to  crawl  down 
sluggishly  and  in  an  ill-temper  into  Herr  Elias  Roos’s 
smoke-begrimed  office.  And  there  sit  pale  faces  be- 
fore huge  ugly-shaped  desks  ; all  are  working  on  amidst 
gloomy  silence,  which  is  only  broken  by  the  rustle  of 
leaves  turned  over  in  the  big  books,  by  the  chink  of 
money  that  is  being  counted,  and  by  unintelligible 
sounds  at  odd  intervals.  And  then  again  what  work 
it  is  ! What  is  the  good  of  all  this  thinking  and  all 
this  writing  ? Merely  that  the  pile  of  gold  pieces  may 
increase  in  the  coffers,  and  that  the  Fafnir’s  1 treasure, 
which  always  brings  mischief,  may  glitter  and  sparkle 
more  and  more  ! Oh,  how  gladly  a painter  or  a 
sculptor  must  go  out  into  the  air,  and  with  head  erect 
imbibe  all  the  refreshing  influences  of  spring,  until 
they  people  the  inner  world  of  his  mind  with  beauti- 
ful images  pulsing  with  glad  and  energetic  life  ! Then 
from  the  dark  bushes  step  forth  wonderful  figures, 
which  his  own  mind  has  created,  and  which  continue 
to  be  his  own,  for  within  him  dwells  the  mysterious 


1 In  Scandinavian  mythology,  Fafnir,  the  worm,  became  the  owner 
of  the  treasure  which  his  father,  Hreidmar,  had  exacted  as  blood-money 
from  Loki,  because  he  had  slain  Hreidmar’ s son  Otur,  the  sea-otter. 
This  treasure  Loki  had  taken  by  violence  from  its  rightful  owner,  a 
dwarf,  who  in  revenge  prophesied  that  the  possession  of  the  treasure 
should  henceforward  be  fraught  with  dire  mischief  to  every  successive 
owner  of  it 


334 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


wizard  power  of  light,  of  colour,  of  form  ; hence  he  is 
able  to  give  abiding  shape  to  what  he  has  seen  with 
the  eye  of  his  mind,  in  that  he  represents  it  in  a 
material  substitute.  What  is  there  to  prevent  me  tear- 
ing myself  loose  from  this  hated  mode  of  life  ? That 
remarkable  old  man  assured  me  that  I am  called  to  be 
an  artist,  and  still  more  so  did  the  nice  handsome  youth. 
For  although  he  did  not  speak  a word,  it  yet  somehow 
struck  me  that  his  glance  said  plainly  what  I had  for 
such  a long  time  felt  like  a vague  emotional  pulsation 
within  me,  and  what,  oppressed  by  a multitude  of 
doubts,  has  hitherto  been  unable  to  rise  to  the  level  of 
consciousness.  Instead  of  going  on  in  this  miserable 
way,  could  I not  make  myself  a good  painter  ? ” 

Traugott  took  out  all  the  things  that  he  had  ever 
drawn  and  examined  them  with  critical  eyes.  Several 
things  looked  quite  different  to-day  from  what  they 
had  ever  done  before,  and  that  not  worse,  but  better. 
His  attention  was  especially  attracted  by  one  of  his 
childish  attempts,  of  the  time  when  he  was  quite  a 
boy  ; it  was  a sketch  of  the  old  burgomaster  and  the 
handsome  page,  the  outlines  very  much  wanting  in 
firmness,  of  course,  but  nevertheless  recognisable.  And 
he  remembered  quite  well  that  these  figures  had  made 
a strange  impression  upon  him  even  at  that  time,  and 
how  one  evening  at  dusk  they  enticed  him  with  such 
an  irresistible  power  of  attraction,  that  he  had  to  leave 
his  playmates  and  go  into  Arthur’s  Hall,  where  he  took 
almost  endless  pains  to  copy  the  picture.  The  contem- 
plation of  this  drawing  filled  him  with  a feeling  of  very 
deep  yearning  sadness.  According  to  his  usual  habit, 
he  ought  to  go  and  work  a few  hours  in  the  office  ; but 
he  could  not  do  it ; he  went  out  to  the  Carlsberg ' 

1 A hill  to  the  north-west  of  Dantzic,  affording  a splendid  view  of 
the  Gulf  of  Dantzic. 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


335 


instead.  There  he  stood  and  gazed  out  over  the  heav- 
ing sea,  striving  to  decipher  in  the  waves  and  in  the 
grey  misty  clouds  which  had  gathered  in  wonderful 
shapes  over  Hela,1  as  in  a magic  mirror,  his  own  destiny 
in  days  to  come. 

Don’t  you  too  believe,  kindly  reader,  that  the  sparks 
which  fall  into  our  hearts  from  the  higher  regions  of 
Love  are  first  made  visible  to  us  in  the  hours  of  hope- 
less pain  ? And  so  it  is  with  the  doubts  that  storm  the 
artist’s  mind.  He  sees  the  Ideal  and  feels  how  impo- 
tent are  his  efforts  to  reach  it  ; it  will  flee  before  him, 
he  thinks,  always  unattainable.  But  then  again  he  is 
once  more  animated  by  a divine  courage  ; he  strives 
and  struggles,  and  his  despair  is  dissolved  into  a sweet 
yearning,  which  both  strengthens  him  and  spurs  him  on 
to  strain  after  his  beloved  idol,  so  that  he  begins  to  see 
it  continually  nearer  and  nearer,  but  never  reaches  it. 

Traugott  was  now  tortured  to  excess  by  this  state  of 
hopeless  pain.  Early  next  morning,  on  again  looking 
over  his  drawings,  which  he  had  left  lying  on  the  table 
he  thought  them  all  paltry  and  foolish,  and  he  now 
called  to  mind  the  oft-repeated  words  of  one  of  his 
artistic  friends,  “ A great  deal  of  the  mischief  done  by 
dabblers  in  art  of  moderate  abilities  arises  from  the 
fact  that  so  many  people  take  a somewhat  keen  super- 
ficial excitement  for  a real  essential  vocation  to  pur- 
sue art.”  Traugott  felt  strongly  urged  to  look  upon 
Arthur’s  Hall  and  his  adventure  with  the  two  myste- 
rious personages,  the  old  man  and  the  young  one,  for 
one  of  these  states  of  superficial  excitement ; so  he 
condemned  himself  to  go  back  to  the  office  again  ; and 
he  worked  so  assiduously  at  Herr  Elias  Roos’s,  without 

1 A long  narrow  spit  of  land  projecting  from  the  coast  at  a point 
north  of  Dantzic  in  a south-south-east  direction  into  the  Gulf  of 
Dantzic. 


33*5 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


heecnng  the  disgust  which  frequently  so  far  overcame 
him  that  he  had  to  break  off  suddenly  and  rush  off  out 
into  the  open  air.  With  sympathetic  concern,  Herr 
Elias  Roos  set  this  down  to  the  indisposition  which,  ac- 
cording to  his  opinion,  the  fearfully  pale  young  man 
must  be  suffering  from. 

Some  time  passed  ; Dcyxiiriic^s__Fair 1 came,  after 
which  Traugott  was  to  marry  Christina  and  be  intro- 
duced to  the  mercantile  world  as  Herr  Elias  Roos’s 
partner.  This  period  he  regarded  as  that  of  a sad 
leave-taking  from  all  his  high  hopes  and  aspirations  ; 
and  his  heart  grew  heavy  whenever  he  saw  dear  Chris- 
tina as  busy  as  a bee  superintending  the  scrubbing  and 
polishing  that  was  going  on  everywhere  in  the  middle 
story,  folding  curtains  with  her  own  hands,  and  giving 
the  final  polish  to  the  brass  pots  and  pans,  &c. 

One  day,  in  the  thick  of  the  surging  crowd  of  stran- 
gers in  Arthur’s  Hall,  Traugott  heard  close  behind  him 
a voice  whose  well-known  tones  made  his  heart  jump. 
“And  do  you  really  mean  to  say  that  this  stock  stands 
at  such  a low  figure  ? ” Traugott  -whisked  himself 
quickly  round,  and  saw,  as  he  had  expected,  the  re- 
markable old  man,  who  had  appealed  to  a broker  to 
get  him  to  buy  some  stock,  the  price  of  which  had  at 
that  moment  fallen  to  an  extremely  low  figure.  Be- 
hind the  old  man  stood  the  youth,  who  greeted  Trau- 
gott with  a friendly  but  melancholy  smile.  Then 
Traugott  hastened  to  address  the  old  man.  “Excuse 
me,  sir  ; the  price  of  the  stock  which  you  are  desirous 
of  selling  is  really  no  higher  than  what  you  have  been 
told  ; nevertheless,  it  may  with  confidence  be  antici 
pated  that  in  a few  days  the  price  will  rise  consider- 
ably. If,  therefore,  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  post- 
pone the  conversion  of  your  stock  for  a little  time 


1 August  4th. 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


337 


longer.”  “Eh!  sir?”  replied  the  old  man  rather 
coldly  and  roughly,  “what  have  you  to  do  with  my 
business  ? How  do  you  know  that  just  now  a silly  bit 
of  paper  like  this  is  of  no  use  at  all  to  me,  whilst  ready 
money  is  what  I have  great  need  of  ?”  Traugott,  not 
a little  abashed  because  the  old  man  had  taken  his 
well-meant  intention  in  such  ill  part,  was  on  the  point 
of  retiring,  when  the  youth  looked  at  him  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  as  if  in  entreaty.  “ My  advice  was  well  meant, 
sir,”  he  replied  quickly  ; “ I cannot  suffer  you  to  inflict 
upon  yourself  an  important  loss.  Let  me  have  your 
stock,  but  on  the  condition  that  I afterwards  pay  for 
it  the  higher  price  which  it  will  be  worth  in  a few 
day’s  time.”  “ Well,  you  are  an  extraordinary  man,” 
said  the  old  man.  “ Be  it  so  then  ; although  I can’t 
understand  what  induces  you  to  want  to  enrich  me.” 
So  saying,  he  shot  a keen  flashing  glance  at  the  youth, 
who  cast  down  his  beautiful  blue  eyes  in  shy  confusion. 
They  both  followed  Traugott  to  the  office,  where  the 
money  was  paid  over  to  the  old  man,  whose  face  was 
dark  and  sullen  as  he  put  it  in  his  purse.  Whilst  he 
was  doing  so,  the  youth  whispered  softly  to  Traugott, 
“Are  you  not  the  gentleman  who  was  sketching  such 
pretty  figures  several  weeks  ago  in  Arthur’s  Hall  ? ” 
“ Certainly  I am,”  replied  Traugott,  and  he  felt  how 
the  remembrance  of  the  ridiculous  episode  of  the  letter 
of  advice  drove  the  hot  blood  into  his  face.  “ Oh  then, 
I don’t  at  all  wonder,”  the  youth  was  continuing, 
when  the  old  man  gave  him  an  angry  look,  which  at 
once  made  him  silent.  In  the  presence  of  these  stran- 
gers Traugott  could  not  get  rid  of  a certain  feeling  of 
awkward  constraint ; and  so  they  went  away  before  he 
could  muster  courage  enough  to  inquire  further  into 
their  circumstances  and  mode  of  life. 

In  fact  there  was  something  so  quite  out  of  the  ordi- 


33« 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


nary  in  the  appearance  of  these  two  persons  that  even 
the  clerks  and  others  in  the  office  were  struck  by  it. 
The  surly  book-keeper  had  stuck  his  pen  behind  his 
ear,  and  leaning  on  his  arms,  which  he  clasped  behind 
his  head,  he  sat  watching  the  old  man  with  keen  glit- 
tering eyes.  “God  forgive  me,”  he  said  when  the 
strangers  had  left  the  office,  “ if  he  didn’t  look  like  an 
old  picture  of  the  year  1400  in  St.  John’s  parish  church, 
with  his  curly  beard  and  black  mantle.”  Herr  Elias 
set  him  down  without  more  ado  as  a Polish  Jew,  not- 
withstanding his  noble  bearing  and  his  extremely  grave 
old-German  face,  and  cried  with  a simper,  “ Silly  fel- 
low ! sells  his  stock  now  ; might  make  at  least  ten  per 
cent,  more  in  a week.”  Of  course  he  knew  nothing 
about  the  additional  price  which  had  been  agreed  upon, 
and  which  Traugott  intended  to  pay  out  of  his  own 
pocket.  And  this  he  really  did  do  when  some  days 
later  he  again  met  the  old  man  and  the  youth  in 
Arthur’s  Hall. 

The  old  man  said,  “ My  son  has  reminded  me  that 
you  are  an  artist  also,  and  so  I will  accept  what  I 
should  have  otherwise  refused.”  They  were  standing 
close  beside  one  of  the  four  granite  pillars  which  sup- 
port the  vaulted  roof  of  the  hall,  and  immediately  in 
front  of  the  two  painted  figures  which  Traugott  had 
formerly  sketched  in  the  letter  of  advice.  Without 
reserve  he  spoke  of  the  great  resemblance  between 
these  figures  and  the  old  man  himself  and  the  youth. 
The  old  man  smiled  a peculiar  smile,  and  laying  his 
hand  on  Traugott’s  shoulder,  said  in  a low  and  de- 
liberate tone,  “ Then  you  didn’t  know  that  I am  the 
German  painter  Godofredus  Berklinger,  and  that  it 
was  I who  painted  the  pictures  which  seem  to  give  you 
so  much  pleasure,  a long  time  ago,  whilst  still  a learner 
in  art.  That  burgomaster  I copied  in  commemoration 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


339 


of  myself,  and  that  the  page  who  is  leading  the  horse 
is  my  son  you  can  of  course  very  easily  see  by  com. 
paring  the  faces  and  figures  of  the  two.”  Traugott 
was  struck  dumb  with  astonishment.  But  he  very 
soon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  old  man,  who 
took  himself  to  be  the  artist  of  a picture  more  than 
two  hundred  years  old  must  be  labouring  under  some 
peculiar  delusion.  The  old  man  went  on,  lifting  up 
his  head  and  looking  proudly  about  him,  “Ay,  that 
was  an  artistic  age  if  you  like — glorious,  vigorous, 
flourishing,  when  I decorated  this  hall  with  all  these 
gay  pictures  in  honour  of  the  wise  King  Arthur  and 
his  Round  Table.  I verily  believe  that  the  tall  stately 
figure  who  once  came  to  me  as  I was  working  here, 
and  exhorted  me  to  go  on  and  gain  my  mastership — 
for  at  that  time  I had  not  reached  that  dignity, — was 
King  Arthur  himself.”  Here  the  young  man  inter- 
posed, “ My  father  is  an  artist,  sir,  who  has  few  equals  : 
and  you  would  have  no  cause  to  be  sorry  if  he  would 
allow  you  to  inspect  his  works.”  Meanwhile  the  old 
man  was  taking  a turn  through  the  hall,  which  had 
now  become  empty  ; he  now  called  to  the  youth  to  go, 
and  then  Traugott  begged  him  to  show  him  his  pictures. 
The  old  man  fixed  his  eyes  upon  him  and  regarded  him 
for  some  time  with  a keen  and  searching  glance,  and 
at  length  said  with  much  gravity,  “You  are,  I must 
say,  rather  audacious  to  be  wanting  to  enter  the  inner 
shrine  before  you  have  begun  your  probationary  years. 
But — be  it  so  ! If  your  eyes  are  still  too  dull  to  see, 
you  may  at  least  dimly  feel.  Come  and  see  me  early 
to-morrow  morning,”  and  he  indicated  where  he  lived. 

Next  morning  Traugott  did  not  fail  to  get  away  from 
business  early  and  hasten  to  the  retired  street  where 
the  remarkable  old  man  lived.  The  youth,  dressed  in 
old-German  style,  opened  the  door  to  receive  him  and 


340 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


led  him  into  a spacious  room,  in  the  centre  of  which  he 
found  the  old  man  sitting  on  a little  stool  in  front  of  a 
large  piece  of  outstretched  grey  primed  canvas.  “You 
have  come  exactly  at  the  right  time,  sir,”  the  old  man 
cried  by  way  of  greeting,  “for  I have  just  put  the  fin- 
ishing-touch to  yon  large  picture,  which  has  occupied 
me  more  than  a year  and  cost  me  no  small  amount  of 
trouble.  It  is  the  fellow  of  a picture  of  the  same  size, 
representing  ‘ Paradise  Lost,’  which  I completed  last 
year  and  which  I can  also  show  you  here.  This,  as  you 
will  observe,  is  ‘ Paradise  Regained,’  and  I should  be 
very  sorry  for  you  if  you  begin  to  put  on  critical  airs 
and  try  to  get  some  allegory  out  of  it.  Allegorical 
pictures  are  only  painted  by  duffers  and  bunglers  ; my 
picture  is  not  to  signify  but  to  be.  You  perceive  how 
all  these  varied  groups  of  men  and  animals  and  fruits 
and  flowers  and  stones  unite  to  form  one  harmonic 
whole,  whose  loud  and  excellent  music  is  the  divinely 
pure  chord  of  glorification.”  And  the  old  man  began 
to  dwell  more  especially  upon  the  individual  groups  ; he 
called  Traugott’s  attention  to  the  secrets  of  the  division 
of  light  and  shade,  to  the  glitter  of  the  flowers  and  the 
metals,  to  the  singular  shapes  which,  rising  up  out  of  the 
calyx  of  the  lilies,  entwined  themselves  about  the  forms 
of  the  divinely  beautiful  youths  and  maidens  who  were 
dancing  to  the  strains  of  music,  and  he  called  his  atten- 
tion to  the  bearded  men  who,  with  all  the  strong  pride 
of  youth  in  their  eyes  and  movements,  were  apparently 
talking  to  various  kinds  of  curious  animals.  The  old 
man’s  words,  whilst  they  grew  continually  more  em- 
phatic, grew  also  continually  more  incomprehensible 
and  confused.  “ That’s  right,  old  greybeard,  let  thy 
diamond  crown  flash  and  sparkle,”  he  cried  at  last,  rivet- 
ing a fixed  but  fiery  glance  upon  the  canvas.  “Throw 
off  the  Isis  veil  which  thou  didst  put  over  thy  head 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


341 


when  the  profane  approached  thee.  What  art  thou 
folding  thy  dark  robe  so  carefully  over  thy  breast  for  ? I 
want  to  see  thy  heart  ; that  is  the  philosopher’s  stone 
through  which  the  mystery  is  revealed.  Art  thou  not 
I ? Why  dost  thou  put  on  such  a bold  and  mighty  air 
before  me  ? Wilt  thou  contend  with  thy  master  ? 
Thinkest  thou  that  the  ruby,  thy  heart,  which  sparkles 
so,  can  crush  my  breast?  Up  then — step  forward — 

come  here  ! I have  created  thee,  for  I am  ” Here 

the  old  man  suddenly  fell  on  the  floor  like  one  struck 
by  lightning.  Whilst  Traugott  lifted  him  up,  the  youth 
quickly  wheeled  up  a small  arm-chair,  into  whicti  they 
placed  the  old  man,  wTho  soon  appeared  to  have  fallen 
into  a gentle  sleep. 

“Now  you  know,  my  kind  sir,  what  is  the  matter 
with  my  good  old  father,”  said  the  youth  softly  and 
gently.  “A  cruel  destiny  has  stripped  off  all  the 
blossoms  of  his  life  ; and  for  several  years  past  he  has 
been  insensible  to  the  art  for  which  he  once  lived.  He 
spends  days  and  days  sitting  in  front  of  a piece  of  out- 
stretched primed  canvas,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  it  in 
a stare  ; that  he  calls  painting.  Into  what  an  over- 
wrought condition  the  description  of  such  a picture 
brings  him,  you  have  just  seen  for  yourself.  Besides 
this  he  is  haunted  by  another  unhappy  thought,  which 
makes  my  life  to  be  a sad  and  agitated  one  ; but  I 
regard  it  as  a fatality  by  which  I am  swept  along  in 
the  same  stream  that  has  caught  him.  You  would  like 
something  to  help  you  to  recover  from  this  extraordina- 
ry scene;  please  follow  me  then  into  the  adjoining  room, 
where  you  will  find  several  pictures  of  my  father’s  early 
days,  when  he  was  still  a productive  artist.” 

And  great  was  Traugott’s  astonishment  to  find  a row 
of  pictures  apparently  painted  by  the  most  illustrious 
masters  of  the  Netherlands  School.  For  the  most  part 


342 


ARTHUR'S  HALL 


they  represented  scenes  taken  from  real  life  ; for  ex- 
ample, a company  returning  from  hunting,  another 
amusing  themselves  with  singing  and  playing,  and 
such  like  subjects.  They  bore  evidences  of  great 
thought,  and  particularly  the  expression  of  the  heads, 
which  were  realised  with  especially  vigorous  life-like 
power.  Just  as  Traugott  was  about  to  return  into  the 
former  room,  he  noticed  another  picture  close  beside 
the  door,  which  held  him  fascinated  to  the  spot.  It 
was  a remarkably  pretty  maiden  dressed  in  old-German 
style,  but  her  face  was  exactly  like  the  youth's,  only 
fuller  and  with  a little  more  colour  in  it,  and  she 
seemed  to  be  somewhat  taller  too.  A tremor  of  name- 
less delight  ran  through  Traugott  at  the  sight  of  this 
beautiful  girl.  In  strength  and  vitality  the  picture 
was  quite  equal  to  anything  by  Van  Dyk.  The  dark 
eyes  were  looking  down  upon  Traugott  with  a soft 
yearning  look,  whilst  her  sweet  lips  appeared  to  be 
half  opened  ready  to  whisper  loving  words.  “ O 
heaven  ! Good  heaven  ! ” sighed  Traugott  wdth  a 
sigh  that  came  from  the  very  bottom  of  his  heart  ; 
“where — oh!  where  can  I find  her?”  “Let  us  go,” 
said  the  youth.  Then  Traugott  cried  in  a sort  of 
rapturous  frenzy,  “Oh  ! it  is  indeed  she! — the  beloved 
of  my  soul,  whom  I have  so  long  carried  about  in  my 
heart,  but  whom  I only  knew  in  vague  stirrings  of 
emotion.  Where — oh  ! where  is  she  ? ” The  tears 
started  from  young  Berklinger’s  eyes  ; he  appeared  to 
be  shaken  by  a convulsive  and  sudden  attack  of  pain, 
and  to  control  himself  with  difficulty.  “Come  along,” 
he  at  length  said,  in  a firm  voice,  “ that  is  a portrait 
of  my  unhappy  sister  Felicia.1  She  has  gone  for  ever. 
You  will  never  see  her.” 


1 The  name  in  the  text  is  Felizitas — Felicity ; Felicia  has  been 
adopted  in  the  translation  as  being  the  nearest  approach  it  it  Felicity 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


343 


Like  one  in  a dream,  Traugott  suffered  himself  to 
be  led  into  the  other  room.  The  old  man  was  still 
sleeping  ; but  all  at  once  he  started  up,  and  staring 
at  Traugott  with  eyes  flashing  with  anger,  he  cried, 
“What  do  you  want?  What  do  you  want,  sir?” 
Then  the  youth  stepped  forward  and  reminded  him 
that  he  had  just  been  showing  his  new  picture  to 
Traugott,  had  he  forgotten  ? At  this  Berklinger  ap- 
peared to  recollect  all  that  had  passed ; it  was  evi- 
dent that  he  was  much  affected  ; and  he  replied  in 
an  undertone,  “ Pardon  an  old  man’s  forgetfulness, 
my  good  sir.”  “Your  new  piece  is  an  admirable — an 
excellent  work,  Master  Berklinger,”  Traugott  pro- 
ceeded ; “ I have  never  seen  anything  equal  to  it.  I 
am  sure  it  must  cost  a great  deal  of  study  and  an  im- 
mense amount  of  labour  before  a man  can  advance  so 
far  as  to  turn  out  a work  like  that.  I discern  that  I 
have  an  inextinguishable  propensity  for  art,  and  I 
earnestly  entreat  you,  my  good  old  master,  to  accept 
me  as  your  pupil  ; you  will  find  me  industrious.”  The 
old  man  grew  quite  cheerful  and  amiable  ; and  embrac- 
ing Traugott,  he  promised  that  he  would  be  a faithful 
master  to  him. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  Traugott  visited  the  old 
painter  every  day  that  came,  and  made  very  rapid 
progress  in  his  studies.  He  now  conceived  an  un- 
conquerable disgust  of  business,  and  was  so  careless 
that  Herr  Elias  Roos  had  to  speak  out  and  openly  find 
fault  with  him  ; and  finally  he  was  very  glad  when 
Traugott  kept  away  from  the  office  altogether,  on  the 
pretext  that  he  was  suffering  from  a lingering  illness. 
For  this  same  reason  the  wedding,  to  Christina’s  no 


would  in  all  probability  be  extremely  strange  to  English  ears,  besides 
being  liable  to  lead  to  ambiguities. 


344 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


little  annoyance,  was  indefinitely  postponed.  “ Your 
Herr  Traugott  seems  to  be  suffering  from  some  secret 
trouble,”  said  one  of  Herr  Elias  Roos’s  merchant- 
friends  to  him  one  day  ; “ perhaps  it’s  the  balance  of 
some  old  love-affair  that  he’s  anxious  to  settle  before 
the  wedding-day.  He  looks  very  pale  and  distracted.” 
“And  why  shouldn’t  he  then?”  rejoined  Herr  Elias. 
“ I wonder  now,”  he  continued  after  a pause, — “ I 
wonder  now  if  that  little  rogue  Christina  has  been 
having  words  with  him  ? My  book-keeper — the  love- 
smitten  old  ass — he  is  always  kissing  and  squeezing 
her  hand.  Traugott’s  devilishly  in  love  with  my  little 
girl,  I know.  Can  there  be  any  jealousy?  Well,  I’ll 
sound  my  young  gentleman.” 

But  however  carefully  he  sounded  he  could  find  no 
satisfactory  bottom,  and  he  said  to  his  merchant-friend, 
“That  Traugott  is  a most  peculiar  fellow;  well,  I 
must  just  let  him  go  his  own  way  ; though  if  he  had 
not  fifty  thousand  thalers  in  my  business  I know  what 
I should  do,  since  now  he  never  does  a stroke  of  any- 
thing.” 

Traugott,  absorbed  in  art,  would  now  have  led  a 
real  bright  sunshiny  life,  had  his  heart  not  been  torn 
with  passionate  love  for  the  beautiful  Felicia,  whom 
he  often  saw  in  wonderful  dreams.  The  picture  had 
disappeared  ; the  old  man  had  taken  it  away  ; and 
Traugott  durst  not  ask  him  about  it  without  risk  of 
seriously  offending  him.  On  the  whole,  old  Berklinger 
continued  to  grow  more  confidential  ; and  instead  of 
taking  any  honorarium  for  his  instruction,  he  per- 
mitted Traugott  to  help  out  his  narrow  house-keeping 
in  many  ways.  From  young  Berklinger  Traugott 
learned  that  the  old  man  had  been  obviously  taken  in 
in  the  sale  of  a little  cabinet,  and  that  the  stock  which 
Traugott  had  realised  for  them  was  all  that  they  had 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


345 


left  of  the  price  received  for  it,  as  well  as  all  the  money 
they  possessed.  But  it  was  only  seldom  that  Traugott 
was  allowed  to  have  any  confidential  conversation  with 
the  youth;  the  old  man  watched  over  him  with  the 
most  singular  jealousy,  and  at  once  scolded  him 
sharply  if  he  began  to  converse  freely  and  cheerfully 
with  their  friend.  This  Traugott  felt  all  the  more 
painfully  since  he  had  conceived  a deep  and  heart-felt 
affection  for  the  youth,  owing  to  his  striking  likeness 
to  Felicia.  Indeed  he  often  fancied,  when  he  stood 
near  the  young  man,  that  he  was  standing  beside  the 
picture  he  loved  so  much,  now  alive  and  breathing, 
and  that  he  could  feel  her  soft  breath  on  his  cheek  ; 
and  then  he  would  like  to  have  drawn  the  youth,  as  if 
he  really  were  his  darling  Felicia  herself,  to  his  swelling 
heart. 

Winter  was  past  ; beautiful  spring  was  filling  the 
woods  and  fields  with  brightness  and  blossoms.  Herr 
Elias  Roos  advised  Traugott  either  to  drink  whey  for 
his  health’s  sake  or  to  go  somewhere  to  take  the  baths. 
Fair  Christina  was  again  looking  forward  with  joy 
to  the  wedding,  although  Traugott  seldom  showed 
himself — and  thought  still  less  of  his  relations  with  her. 

Once  Traugott  was  confined  to  the  office  the  whole 
day  long,  making  a requisite  squaring  up  of  his 
accounts,  &c.  ; he  had  been  obliged  to  neglect  his 
meals,  and  it  was  beginning  to  get  very  dark  when 
he  reached  Berklinger’s  remote  dwelling.  He  found 
nobody  in  the  first  room,  but  from  the  one  adjoining 
he  heard  the  music  of  a lute.  He  had  never  heard  the 
instrument  there  before.  He  listened  ; a song,  from 
time  to  time  interrupted,  accompanied  the  music  like 
a low  soft  sigh.  He  opened  the  door.  O Heaven ! 
with  her  back  towards  him  sat  a female  figure,  dressed 
in  old-German  style  with  a high  lace  ruff,  exactly  like 


346 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


the  picture.  At  the  noise  which  Traugott  unavoidably 
made  on  entering,  the  figure  rose,  laid  the  lute  on  the 
table,  and  turned  round.  It  was  she,  Felicia  herself! 
“Felicia!”  cried  Traugott  enraptured;  and  he  was 
about  to  throw  himself  at  the  feet  of  his  beloved 
divinity  when  he  felt  a powerful  hand  laid  upon  his 
collar  behind,  and  himself  dragged  out  of  the  room  by 
some  one  with  the  strength  of  a giant.  “You  aban- 
doned wretch  ! you  incomparable  villain  ! ” screamed 
old  Berklinger,  pushing  him  on  before  him,  “so  that 
was  your  love  for  art  ? Do  you  mean  to  murder 
me  ? ” And  therewith  he  hurled  him  out  at  the  door, 
whilst  a knife  glittered  in  his  hand.  Traugott  flew 
downstairs  and  hurried  back  home  stupefied  ; nay', 
half  crazy'  with  mingled  delight  and  terror. 

He  tossed  restlessly  on  his  couch,  unable  to  sleep. 
“Felicia!  Felicia!  ” he  exclaimed  time  after  time,  dis- 
tracted with  pain  and  the  pangs  of  love.  “ You  are 
there,  you  are  there,  and  I may  not  see  you,  mayr  not 
clasp  you  in  my  arms  ! You  love  me,  oh  yes!  that  I 
know.  From  the  pain  which  pierces  my  breast  so  sav- 
agely I feel  that  yrou  love  me.” 

The  morning  sun  shone  brightly  into  Traugott's 
chamber  ; then  he  got  up,  and  determined,  let  the  cost 
be  what  it  might,  that  he  would  solve  the  mystery'  of 
Berklinger’s  house.  He  hurried  off  to  the  old  man’s, 
but  his  feelings  may  not  be  described  when  he  saw  all 
the  windows  wide  open  and  the  maid-servants  busy' 
sweeping  out  the  rooms.  He  was  struck  with  a pre- 
sentiment of  what  had  happened.  Berklinger  had  left 
the  house  late  on  the  night  before  along  with  his  son, 
and  was  gone  nobody  knew  where.  A carriage  drawn 
by  two  horses  had  fetched  away  the  box  of  paintings 
and  the  two  little  trunks  which  contained  all  Berk- 
linger’s scanty  property'.  He  and  his  son  had  followed 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


347 


half  an  hour  later.  All  inquiries  as  to  where  they  had 
gone  remained  fruitless  : no  livery-stable  keeper  had 
let  out  horses  and  carriage  to  persons  such  as  Traugott 
described,  and  even  at  the  town  gates  he  could  learn 
nothing  for  certain  ; — in  short,  Berklinger  had  disap- 
peared as  if  he  had  flown  away  on  the  mantle  1 of  Meph- 
istopheles. 

Traugott  went  back  home  prostrated  by  despair. 
“ She  is  gone  ! She  is  gone  ! The  beloved  of  my  soul ! 
All — all  is  lost  ! ” Thus  he  cried  as  he  rushed  past 
Herr  Elias  Roos  (for  he  happened  to  be  just  at  that 
moment  in  the  entrance  hall)  towards  his  own  room. 
“ God  bless  my  soul  ! ” cried  Herr  Elias,  pulling  and 
tugging  at  his  wig.  “ Christina ! Christina  ! ” he 
shouted,  till  the  whole  house  echoed.  “ Christina  ! 
You  disgraceful  girl ! My  good-for-nothing  daughter!  ” 
The  clerks  and  others  in  the  office  rushed  out  with  ter- 
rified faces  ; the  book-keeper  asked  amazed,  “ But  Herr 

Roos  ? ” Herr  Roos,  however,  continued  to  scream 

without  stopping,  “ Christina  ! Christina  ! ” At  this 
point  Miss  Christina  stepped  in  through  the  house-door, 
and  raising  her  broad-brimmed  straw-hat  just  a little  and 
smiling,  asked  what  her  good  father  was  bawling  in  this 
outrageous  way  for.  “ I strictly  beg  you  will  let  such 
unnecessary  running  away  alone,”  Herr  Elias  began  to 
storm  at  her.  “ My  son-in-law  is  a melancholy  fellow 
and  as  jealous  as  a Turk.  You’d  better  stay  quietly  at 
home,  or  else  there’ll  be  some  mischief  done.  My 
partner  is  in  there  screaming  and  crying  about  his  be- 
trothed, because  she  will  gad  about  so.”  Christina 
looked  at  the  book-keeper  astounded  ; but  he  gave  a 
significant  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  cupboard  in 


1 A mode  of  aerial  conveyance  made  use  of  on  occasion  by  the  per- 
sonage named,  in  the  popular  Faust  legend. 


348 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


the  office  where  Herr  Roos  was  in  the  habit  of  keeping 
his  cinnamon  water.  “ You’d  better  go  in  and  console 
your  betrothed,”  he  said  as  he  strode  away.  Christina 
went  up  to  her  own  room,  only  to  make  a slight  change 
in  her  dress,  and  give  out  the  clean  linen,  and  discuss 
with  the  cook  what  would  have  to  be  done  about  the 
Sunday  roast-joint,  and  at  the  same  time  pick  up  a few 
items  of  town-gossip,  then  she  would  go  at  once  and 
see  what  really  was  the  matter  with  her  betrothed. 

You  know,  kindly  reader,  that  we  all  of  us,  when  in 
Traugott’s  case,  have  to  go  through  our  appointed 
stages  ; we  can’t  help  ourselves.  Despair  is  succeeded 
by  a dull  dazed  sort  of  moody  reverie,  in  which  the 
crisis  is  wont  to  occur  ; and  this  then  passes  over  into 
a milder  pain,  in  which  Nature  is  able  to  apply  her 
remedies  with  effect. 

It  was  in  this  stage  of  sad  but  beneficial  pain  that, 
some  days  later,  Traugott  again  sat  on  the  Carlsberg, 
gazing  out  as  before  upon  the  sea-waves  and  the  grey 
misty  clouds  which  had  gathered  over  Hela  ; but  he 
was  not  seeking  as  before  to  discover  the  destiny  re- 
served for  him  in  days  to  come  ; no,  for  all  that  he  had 
hoped  for,  all  that  he  had  dimly  dreamt  of,  had  van- 
ished. “ Oh ! ” said  he,  “ my  call  to  art  was  a bitter, 
bitter  deception.  Felicia  was  the  phantom  who  delud- 
ed me  into  the  belief  in  that  which  never  had  any 
other  existence  but  in  the  insane  fancy  of  a fever-strick- 
en mind.  It’s  all  over.  I will  give  it  all  up,  and  go 
back — into  my  dungeon.  I have  made  up  my  mind  ; I 
will  go  back.”  Traugott  again  went  back  to  his  work 
in  the  office,  whilst  the  wedding-day  with  Christina  was 
once  more  fixed.  On  the  day  before  the  wedding  was 
to  come  off,  Traugott  was  standing  in  Arthur’s  Hall, 
looking,  not  without  a good  deal  of  heart-rending  sad- 
ness, at  the  fateful  figures  of  the  old  burgomaster  and 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


349 


his  page,  when  his  eye  fell  upon  the  broker  to  whom 
Berklinger  was  trying  to  sell  his  stock.  Without  paus- 
ing to  think,  almost  mechanically  in  fact,  he  walked  up 
to  him  and  asked,  “ Did  you  happen  to  know  the 
strikingly  curious  old  man  with  the  black  curly  beard 
who  some  time  ago  frequently  used  to  be  seen  here 
along  with  a handsome  youth  ? ” “Why,  to  be  sure  I 
did,”  answered  the  broker  ; “ that  was  the  crack-brained 
old  painter  Gottfried  Berklinger.”  “ Then  don’t  you 
know  where  he  has  gone  to  and  where  he  is  now  liv- 
ing?” asked  Traugott  again.  “Ay,  that  I do,”  replied 
the  broker  ; “ he  has  now  for  a long  time  been  living 
quietly  at  Sorrento  along  with  his  daughter.”  “With 
his  daughter  Felicia  ? ” asked  Traugott  so  vehemently 
and  so  loudly  that  everybody  turned  round  to  look  at 
him.  “ Why,  yes,”  went  on  the  broker  calmly,  “ that 
was,  you  know,  the  pretty  youth  who  always  followed 
the  old  man  about  everywhere.  Half  Dantzic  knew 
that  he  was  a girl,  notwithstanding  that  the  crazy  old 
fellow  thought  there  was  not  a single  soul  could  guess 
it.  It  had  been  prophesied  to  him  that  if  his  daughter 
were  ever  to  get  married  he  would  die  a shameful  death ; 
and  accordingly  he  determined  never  to  let  anybody 
know  anything  about  her,  and  so  he  passed  her  off 
everywhere  as  his  son.”  Traugott  stood  like  a statue  ; 
then  he  ran  off  through  the  streets — away  out  of  the 
town-gates — into  the  open  country,  into  the  woods, 
loudly  lamenting,  “ Oh  ! miserable  wretch  that  I am  ! 
It  was  she — she,  herself  ; I have  sat  beside  her  scores 
and  hundreds  of  times — have  breathed  her  breath — 
pressed  her  delicate  hands — looked  into  her  beautiful 
eyes — heard  her  sweet  words — and  now  I have  lost 
her  ! No;  not  lost.  I will  follow  her  into  the  land  of 
art.  I acknowledge  the  finger  of  destiny.  Away — 

away  to  Sorrento.” 


35° 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


He  hurried  back  home.  Herr  Elias  Roos  got  in  his 
way  ; Traugott  laid  hold  of  him  and  carried  him  along 
with  him  into  the  room.  “ I shall  never  marry  Chris- 
tina, never  ! ” he  screamed.  “ She  looks  like  Voluptas 
(Pleasure)  and  Luxuries  (Wantonness),  and  her  hair  is 
like  that  of  Ira  (Wrath),  in  the  picture  in  Arthur’s  Hall. 

0 Felicia!  Felicia!  My  beautiful  darling  ! Why  do 
you  stretch  out  your  arms  so  longingly  towards  me  ? 

1 am  coming,  I am  coming.  And  now  let  me  tell  you, 
Herr  Elias,”  he  continued,  again  laying  hold  of  the 
pale  merchant,  “ you  will  never  see  me  in  your  damned 
office  again.  What  do  I care  for  your  cursed  ledgers 
and  day-books  ? I am  a painter,  ay,  and  a good  paint- 
er too.  Berklinger  is  my  master,  my  father,  my  all, 
andjyou  are  nothing — nothing  at  all.”  And  therewith 
he  gave  Herr  Elias  a good  shaking.  Herr  Elias,  how- 
ever, began  to  shout  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  “ Help  ! 
help  ! Come  here,  folks  ! Help  ! My  son-in-law’s 
gone  mad.  My  partner’s  in  a raging  fit.  Help  ! help  !” 
Everybody  came  running  out  of  the  office.  Traugott 
had  released  his  hold  upon  Elias  and  now  sank  down 
exhausted  in  a chair.  They  all  gathered  round  him  ; 
but  when  he  suddenly  leapt  to  his  feet  and  cried  with  a 
wild  look,  “ What  do  you  all  want  ? ” they  all  hurried 
off  out  of  the  room  in  a string,  Herr  Elias  in  the  mid- 
dle. 

Soon  afterwards  there  was  a rustling  of  a silk  dress, 
and  a voice  asked,  “ Have  you  really  gone  crazed,  my 
dear  Herr  Traugott,  or  are  you  only  jesting?”  It  was 
Christina.  “ I am  not  the  least  bit  crazed,  my  angel,” 
replied  Traugott,  “ nor  is  it  one  whit  truer  that  I am 
jesting.  Pray  compose  yourself,  my  dear,  but  our 
wedding  won’t  come  off  to-morrow  ; I shall  never  marry 
you,  neither  to-morrow,  nor  at  any  other  time.”  “ There 
is  not  the  least  need  of  it,”  said  Christina  very  calmly. 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


351 


“ I have  not  been  particularly  pleased  with  you  for 
some  time,  and  some  one  I know  will  value  it  far  dif- 
ferently if  he  may  only  lead  home  as  his  bride  the  rich 
and  pretty  Miss  Christina  Roos.  Adieu  ! ” Therewith 
she  rustled  off.  “ She  means  the  book-keeper,”  thought 
Traugott.  As  soon  as  he  had  calmed  down  somewhat 
he  went  to  Herr  Elias  and  explained  to  him  in  convin- 
cing terms  that  he  need  not  expect  to  have  him  either 
as  his  son-in-law  or  as  his  partner  in  the  business. 
Herr  Elias  reconciled  himself  to  the  inevitable  ; and 
repeated  with  downright  honest  joy  in  the  office  again 
and  again  that  he  thanked  God  to  have  got  rid  of  that 
crazy-headed  Traugott — even  after  the  latter  was  a 
long,  long  way  distant  from  Dantzic. 

On  at  length  arriving  at  the  longed-for  country, 
Traugott  found  a new  life  awaiting  him,  bright  and 
brilliant.  At  Rome  he  was  introduced  to  the  circle  of 
the  German  colony  of  painters  and  shared  in  their 
studies.  Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  he  stayed  there 
longer  than  would  seem  to  have  been  permissible  in 
the  face  of  his  longing  to  find  Felicia  again,  by  which 
he  had  hitherto  been  so  restlessly  urged  onwards.  But 
his  longing  was  now  grown  weaker  ; it  shaped  itself  in 
his  heart  like  a fascinating  dream,  whose  misty  shimmer 
enveloped  his  life  on  all  sides,  so  that  he  believed  that 
all  he  did  and  thought,  and  all  his  artistic  practice, 
were  turned  towards  the  higher  supernatural  regions 
of  blissful  intuitions.  All  the  female  figures  which  his 
now  experienced  artistic  skill  enabled  him  to  create 
bore  lovely  Felicia’s  features.  The  young  painters 
were  greatly  struck  by  the  exquisitely  beautiful  face, 
the  original  of  which  they  in  vain  sought  to  find  in 
Rome  ; they  overwhelmed  Traugott  with  multitudes  of 
questions  as  to  where  he  had  seen  the  beauty.  Trau- 
gott however  was  very  shy  of  telling  of  his  singular  ad- 


352 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


venture  in  Dantzic,  until  at  last,  after  the  lapse  of  sev- 
eral months,  an  old  Königsberg  friend,  Matuszewski 
by  name,  who  had  come  to  Rome  to  devote  himself 
entirely  to  art,  declared  joyfully  that  he  had  seen  there 
— in  Rome,  the  girl  whom  Traugott  copied  in  all  his 
pictures.  Traugott’s  wild  delight  may  be  imagined. 
He  no  longer  concealed  what  it  was  that  had  attracted 
him  so  strongly  to  art,  and  urged  him  on  with  such  ir- 
resistible power  into  Italy  ; and  his  Dantzic  adventure 
proved  so  singular  and  so  attractive  that  they  all  prom- 
ised to  search  eagerly  for  the  lost  loved  one. 

Matuszewski’s  efforts  were  the  most  successful.  He 
had  soon  found  out  where  the  gild  lived,  and  discovered 
moreover  that  she  really  was  the  daughter  of  a poor  old 
painter,  who  just  at  that  period  was  busy  putting  a new 
coat  on  the  walls  of  the  church  Trinita  del  Monte.  All 
these  things  agreed  nicely.  Traugott  at  once  hastened 
to  the  church  in  question  along  with  Matuszewski  ; and 
in  the  painter,  whom  he  saw  working  up  on  a very  high 
scaffolding,  he  really  thought  he  recognised  old  Berk- 
lingen Thence  the  two  friends  hurried  off  to  the  old 
man’s  dwelling,  without  having  been  noticed  by  him. 
“ It  is  she,”  cried  Traugott,  when  he  saw  the  painter’s 
daughter  standing  on  the  balcony,  occupied  with  some 
sort  of  feminine  work.  “ Felicia,  my  Felicia  ! ” he  ex- 
claimed aloud  in  his  joy,  as  he  burst  into  the  room. 
The  girl  looked  up  very  much  alarmed.  She  had  Feli- 
cia’s features  ; but  it  was  not  Felicia.  In  his  bitter  dis- 
appointment poor  Traugott’s  wounded  heart  was  rent 
as  if  from  innumerable  dagger-thrusts.  In  a few  words 
Matuszewski  explained  all  to  the  girl.  In  her  pretty 
shy  confusion,  with  her  cheeks  deep  crimson,  and  her 
eyes  cast  down  upon  the  ground,  she  made  a marvel- 
lously attractive  picture  to  look  at ; and  Traugott,  whose 
first  impulse  had  been  quickly  to  retire,  nevertheless, 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


353 


after  casting  but  a single  pained  glance  at  her,  remained 
standing  where  he  was,  as  though  held  fast  by  silken 
bonds.  His  friend  was  not  backward  in  saying  all  sorts 
of  complimentary  things  to  pretty  Dorina,  and  so 
helped  her  to  recover  from  the  constraint  and  embar- 
rassment into  which  she  had  been  thrown  by  the  extra- 
ordinary manner  of  their  entrance.  Dorina  raised  the 
“ dark  fringed  curtains  of  her  eyes  ” and  regarded  the 
stranger  with  a sweet  smile,  and  said  that  her  father 
would  soon  come  home  from  his  work,  and  would  be 
very  pleased  to  see  some  German  painters,  for  he  es- 
teemed them  very  highly.  Traugott  was  obliged  to 
confess  that,  exclusive  of  Felicia,  no  girl  had  ever  ex- 
cited such  a warm  interest  in  him  as  Dorina  did.  She 
was  in  fact  almost  a second  Felicia  ; the  only  differences 
were  that  Dorina’s  features  seemed  to  him  less  delicate 
and  more  sharply  cut,  and  her  hair  was  darker.  It  was 
the  same  picture,  only  painted  by  Raphael  instead  of 
by  Rubens. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  old  gentleman  came  in  ; 
and  Traugott  now  plainly  saw  that  he  had  been  greatly 
misled  by  the  height  of  the  scaffolding  in  the  church, 
on  which  the  old  man  had  stood.  Instead  of  his  being 
the  strong  Berklinger,  he  was  a thin,  mean-looking 
little  old  man,  timid  and  crushed  by  poverty.  A de- 
ceptive accidental  light  in  the  church  had  given  his 
clean-shaved  chin  an  appearance  similar  to  Berklinger’s 
black  curly  beard.  In  conversing  about  art  matters  the 
old  man  unfolded  considerable  ripe  practical  knowl- 
edge ; and  Traugott  made  up  his  mind  to  cultivate  his 
acquaintance  ; for  though  his  introduction  to  the  family 
had  been  so  painful,  their  society  now  began  to  exer- 
cise a more  and  more  agreeable  influence  upon  him. 

Dorina,  the  incarnation  of  grace  and  child-like  in- 
genuousness, plainly  allowed  her  preference  for  the 


354 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


young  German  painter  to  be  seen.  And  Traugott 
warmly  returned  her  affection.  He  grew  so  accus- 
tomed to  the  society  of  the  pretty  child  (she  was  but 
fifteen),  that  he  often  spent  the  whole  day  with  the 
little  family  ; his  studio  he  transferred  to  the  spacious 
apartment  which  stood  empty  next  their  rooms  ; and 
finally  he  established  himself  in  the  family  itself. 
Hence  he  was  able  of  his  prosperity  to  do  much  in  a 
delicate  way  to  relieve  their  straitened  circumstances  ; 
and  the  old  man  could  not  very  well  think  otherwise 
than  that  Traugott  would  marry  Dorina  ; and  he  even 
said  so  to  him  without  reservation.  This  put  Traugott 
in  no  little  consternation  : for  he  now  distinctly  recol- 
lected the  object  of  his  journey,  and  perceived  where 
it  seemed  likely  to  end.  Felicia  again  stood  before  his 
eyes  instinct  with  life ; but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  felt 
that  he  could  not  leave  Dorina,  His  vanished  darling 
he  could  not,  for  some  extraordinary  reason,  conceive 
of  as  being  his  wife.  She  was  pictured  in  his  imagina- 
tion as  an  intellectual  vision,  that  he  could  neither  lose 
nor  win.  Oh  ! to  be  immanent  in  his  beloved  intel- 
lectually for  ever ! never  to  have  her  and  own  her 
physically  ! But  Dorina  was  often  in  his  thoughts  as 
his  dearly  loved  wife  ; and  as  often  as  he  contemplated 
the  idea  of  again  binding  himself  in  the  indissoluble 
bonds  of  betrothal,1  he  felt  a delicious  tremor  run 
through  him  and  a gentle  warmth  pervade  his  veins  ; 
and  yet  he  regarded  it  as  unfaithfulness  to  his  first 
love.  Thus  Traugott’s  heart  was  the  scene  of  contest 
between  the  most  contradictory  feelings  ; he  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  what  to  do.  He  avoided  the  old 
painter  ; and  he  accordingly  feared  Traugott  intended 

1 In  Germany  the  betrothal  is  a more  significant  act  than  in  England, 
and  by  some  regarded  as  more  sacred  and  binding  than  the  actual 
marriage  ceremony. 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


35$ 


to  receive  his  dear  child.  He  had  moreover  already 
spoken  of  Traugott’s  wedding  as  a settled  thing;  and 
it  was  only  under  this  impression  that  he  had  tolerated 
Dorina’s  familiar  intimacy  with  Traugott,  which  other- 
wise would  have  given  the  girl  an  ill  name.  The  blood 
of  the  Italian  boiled  within  him,  and  one  day  he  roundly 
declared  to  Traugott  that  he  must  either  marry  Dorina 
or  leave  him,  for  he  would  not  tolerate  this  familiar 
intercourse  an  hour  longer.  Traugott  was  tormented 
by  the  keenest  annoyance  as  well  as  by  the  bitterest 
vexation.  The  old  man  he  viewed  in  the  light  of  a 
vile  match-maker  ; his  own  actions  and  behaviour  were 
contemptible  ; and  that  he  had  ever  deserted  Felicia  he 
now  judged  to  be  sinful  and  abominable.  His  heart 
was  sore  wounded  at  parting  from  Dorina  ; but  with  a 
violent  effort  he  tore  himself  free  from  the  sweet  bonds. 
He  hastened  away  to  Naples,  to  Sorrento. 

He  spent  a whole  year  in  making  the  strictest  in- 
quiries after  Berklinger  and  Felicia ; but  all  was  in 
vain  ; nobody  knew  anything  about  them.  The  sole 
gleam  of  intelligence  that  he  could  find  was  a vague 
sort  of  presumption,  which  was  founded  merely  upon 
the  tradition  that  an  old  German  painter  had  been  seen 
in  Sorrento  several  years  before — and  that  was  all. 
After  being  driven  backwards  and  forwards  like  a boat 
on  the  restless  sea,  Traugott  at  length  came  to  a stand 
in  Naples ; and  in  proportion  as  his  industry  in  art 
pursuits  again  awakened,  the  longing  for  Felicia  which 
he  cherished  in  his  bosom  grew  softer  and  milder. 
But  he  never  saw  any  pretty  girl,  if  she  was  the  least 
like  Dorina  in  figure,  movement,  or  bearing,  without 
feeling  most  bitterly  the  loss  of  the  dear  sweet  child. 
Yet  when  he  was  painting  he  never  thought  of  Dorina, 
but  always  of  Felicia  ; she  continued  to  be  his  constant 
ideal. 


356 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


At  length  he  received  letters  from  his  native  town. 
Herr  Elias  Roos  had  departed  this  life,  his  business 
agent  wrote,  and  Traugott’s  presence  was  required  in 
order  to  settle  matters  with  the  book-keeper,  who  had 
married  Miss  Christina  and  undertaken  the  business. 
Traugott  hurried  back  to  Dantzic  by  the  shortest  route. 

Again  he  was  standing  in  Arthur’s  Hall,  leaning 
against  the  granite  pillar,  opposite  the  burgomaster 
and  the  page  ; he  dwelt  upon  the  wonderful  adventure 
which  had  had  such  a painful  influence  upon  his  life', 
and,  a prey  to  deep  and  hopeless  sadness,  he  stood  and 
looked  with  a set  fixed  gaze  upon  the  youth,  who 
greeted  him  with  living  eyes,  as  it  were,  and  whispered 
in  a sweet  and  charming  voice,  “And  so  you  could  not 
desert  me  then  after  all  ?” 

“ Can  I believe  my  eyes  ? Is  it  really  your  own 
respected  self  come  back  again  safe  and  sound,  and 
quite  cured  of  your  unpleasant  melancholy  ? ” croaked 
a voice  near  Traugott.  It  was  the  well-known  broker. 
“ I have  not  found  her,”  escaped  Traugott  involuntarily. 
“ Whom  do  you  mean  ? Whom  has  your  honour  not 
found  ?”  asked  the  broker.  “ The  painter  Godofredus 
Berklinger  and  his  daughter  Felicia,”  rejoined  Trau- 
gott. “ I have  searched  all  Italy  for  them  ; not  a soul 
knew  anything  about  them  in  Sorrento.”  This  made 
the  broker  open  his  eyes  and  stare  at  him,  and  he  stam- 
mered, “Where  do  you  say  you  have  searched  for  Berk- 
linger and  Felicia  ? In  Italy  ? in  Naples  ? in  Sorrento  ?” 
“ Why,  yes  ; to  be  sure,”  replied  Traugott,  very  testily. 
Whereupon  the  broker  struck  his  hands  together  several 
times  in  succession,  crying  as  he  did  so,  “ Did  you  ever 
now  ? Did  you  ever  hear  tell  of  such  a thing  ? But 
Herr  Traugott ! Herr  Traugott  ! ” “ Well,  what  is  there 
to  be  so  much  astonished  at?”  rejoined  Traugott, 
“ don’t  behave  in  such  a foolish  fashion,  pray.  Of 


ARTHUR'S  HALL . 


357 


course  a man  will  travel  as  far  as  Sorrento  for  his 
sweetheart’s  sake.  Yes,  yes  ; I loved  Felicia  and  fol- 
lowed her.”  But  the  broker  skipped  about  on  one  foot, 
and  continued  to  say,  “Well,  now,  did  you  ever?  did 
you  ever?”  until  Traugott  placed  his  hand  earnestly 
upon  his  arm  and  asked,  “ Come,  tell  me  then,  in 
heaven's  name  ! what  is  it  that  you  find  so  extraordi- 
nary ? ” The  broker  began,  “ But,  my  good  Herr  Trau- 
gott, do  you  mean  to  say  you  don’t  know  that  Herr 
Aloysius  Brandstetter,  our  respected  town-councillor 
and  the  senior  of  our  guild,  calls  his  little  villa,  in  that 
small  fir-wood  at  the  foot  of  Carlsberg,  in  the  direction 
of  Conrad’s  Hammer,  by  the  name  of  Sorrento  ? He 
bought  Berklinger’s  pictures  of  him  and  took  the  old 
man  and  his  daughter  into  his  house,  that  is,  out  tc 
Sorrento.  And  there  they  lived  for  several  years  ; and 
if  you,  my  respected  Herr  Traugott,  had  only  gone  and 
planted  your  own  two  feet  on  the  middle  of  the  Carls- 
berg,  you  could  have  had  a view  right  into  the  garden, 
and  could  have  seen  Miss  Felicia  walking  about  there 
dressed  in  curious  old-German  style,  like  the  women  in 
those  pictures — there  was  no  need  for  you  to  go  to 
Italy.  Afterwards  the  old  man — but  that  is  a sad 

story” “Never  mind;  go  on,”  said  Traugott, 

hoarsely.  “Yes,”  continued  the  broker.  “Young 
Brandstetter  came  back  from  England,  saw  Miss  Feli- 
cia, and  fell  in  love  with  her.  Coming  unexpectedly 
upon  the  young  lady  in  the  garden,  he  fell  upon  his 
knees  before  her  in  romantic  fashion,  and  swore  that 
he  would  wed  her  and  deliver  her  from  the  tyrannical 
slavery  in  which  her  father  kept  her.  Close  behind  the 
young  people,  without  their  having  observed  it,  stood 
the  old  man  ; and  the  very  self-same  moment  in  which 
Felicia  said,  ‘ I will  be  yours,’  he  fell  down  with  a stifled 
scream,  and  was  dead  as  a door  nail.  It’s  said  he  looked 


358 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


very  very  hideous — all  blue  and  bloody,  because  he  had 
by  some  inexplicable  means  burst  an  artery.  After  that 
Miss  Felicia  could  not  bear  young  Brandstetter  at  all, 
and  at  last  she  married  Mathesius,  criminal  and  aulic 
counsellor,  of  Marienwerder.  Your  honour,  as  an  old 
flame,  should  go  and  see  the  Frau  Kriminalräihin. 
Marienwerder  is  not  so  far,  you  know,  as  your  real 
Italian  Sorrento.  The  good  lady  is  said  to  be  very 
comfortable  and  to  have  enriched  the  world  with  divers 
children.” 

Silent  and  crushed,  Traugott  hastened  from  the 
Hall.  This  issue  of  his  adventure  filled  him  with  awe 
and  dread.  “No,  it  is  not  she — it  is  not  she!”  he 
cried.  “ It  is  not  Felicia,  that  divine  image  which 
enkindled  an  infinite  longing  in  my  bosom,  whom  I 
followed  into  yon  distant  land,  seeing  her  before  me 
everywhere  where  I went  like  my  star  of  fortune, 
twinkling  and  glittering  with  sweet  hopes.  Felicia — 
Kriminalräthin  Mathesius  ! Ha  ! Ha  ! Ha  ! — Krivi- 
inalräthin  Mathesius  ! ” Traugott,  shaken  by  extreme 
sensations  of  misery,  laughed  aloud  and  hastened  in  his 
usual  way  through  the  Oliva  Gate  along  the  Langfuhr1 
to  the  Carlsberg.  He  looked  down  into  Sorrento,  and 
the  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes.  “Oh!”  he  cried, 
“Oh!  how  deep,  how  incurably  deep  an  injury,  O 
thou  eternal  ruling  Power,  does  thy  bitter  irony  inflict 
upon  poor  man’s  soft  heart ! But  no,  no  ! But  why 
should  the  child  cry  over  the  incurable  pain  when 
instead  of  enjoying  the  light  and  warmth  he  thrusts 
his  hand  into  the  flames  ? Destiny  visibly  laid  its  hand 
upon  me,  but  my  dimmed  vision  did  not  recognise  the 
higher  nature  at  work  ; and  I had  the  presumption  to 


1 A suburb  of  Dantzic,  on  the  N.  W.,  3^  miles  nearer  than  Carls- 
berg ; it  is  connected  with  the  city  by  a double  avenue  of  fine  limes. 


ARTHUR'S  HALL. 


359 


delude  myself  with  the  idea  that  the  forms,  created 
by  the  old  master  and  mysteriously  awakened  to  life, 
which  stepped  down  to  meet  me,  were  my  own  equals, 
and  that  I could  draw  them  down  into  the  miserable 
transitoriness  of  earthly  existence.  No,  no,  Felicia, 
I have  never  lost  you  ; you  are  and  will  be  mine  for 
ever,  for  you  yourself  are  the  creative  artistic  power 
dwelling  within  me.  Now, — and  only  now  have  I first 
come  to  know  you.  What  have  you — what  have  I to 
do  with  the  Kriminalrät  hin  Mathesius  ? I fancy,  noth- 
ing at  all.” 

“Neither  did  I know  what  you  should  have  to  do 
with  her,  my  respected  Herr  Traugott,”  a voice  broke 
in.  Traugott  awakened  out  of  his  dream.  Strange  to 
say,  he  found  himself,  without  knowing  how  he  got 
there,  again  leaning  against  the  granite  pillar  in 
Arthur’s  Hall.  The  person  who  had  spoken  the  above- 
mentioned  words  was  Christina’s  husband.  He  handed 
to  Traugott  a letter  that  had  just  arrived  from  Rome. 
Matuszewski  wrote  : — 

“ Dorina  is  prettier  and  more  charming  than  ever, 
only  pale  with  longing  for  you,  my  dear  friend.  She 
is  expecting  you  every  hour,  for  she  is  most  firmly  con- 
vinced that  you  could  never  be  untrue  to  her.  She 
loves  you  with  all  her  heart.  When  shall  we  see  you 
again  ? ” 

“ I am  very  pleased  that  we  settled  all  our  business 
this  morning,”  said  Traugott  to  Christina’s  husband 
after  he  had  read  this,  “ for  to-morrow  I set  out  for 
Rome,  where  my  bride  is  most  anxiously  longing  for 
me.” 


END  OF  VOLUME  I. 


VOLUME  II 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS.1 


T^HIS  was  the  title  that  distinguished  in  the  art- 
* catalogue  of  the  works  exhibited  by  the  Berlin 
Academy  of  Arts  in  September,  1816,  a picture  which 
came  from  the  brush  of  the  skilful  clever  Associate  of 
the  Academy,  C.  Kolbe.2  There  was  such  a peculiar 
charm  in  the  piece  that  it  attracted  all  observers.  A 
Doge,  richly  and  magnificently  dressed,  and  a Dogess 
at  his  side,  as  richly  adorned  with  jewellery,  are  step- 
ping out  on  to  a balustered  balcony  ; he  is  an  old  man, 
with  a grey  beard  and  rusty  red  face,  his  features  indi- 
cating a peculiar  blending  of  expressions,  now  revealing 
strength,  now  weakness,  again  pride  and  arrogance, 
and  again  pure  good-nature  ; she  is  a young  woman, 
with  a far-away  look  of  yearning  sadness  and  dreamy 
aspiration  not  only  in  her  eyes  but  also  in  her  general 
bearing.  Behind  them  is  an  elderly  lady  and  a man 
holding  an  open  sun-shade.  At  one  end  of  the  bal- 
cony is  a young  man  blowing  a conch-shaped  horn, 
whilst  in  front  of  it  a richly  decorated  gondola,  bearing 
the  Venetian  flag  and  having  two  gondoliers,  is  rock- 
ing on  the  sea.  In  the  background  stretches  the  sea 

1 Written  for  the  Taschenbuch  der  Liebe  und  Freundschaft  gewidmet, 
1819  ; edited  by  S.  Schütze,  Frankfort-on-Main. 

7 C.  W.  Kolbe,  junr.,  historical  and  genre  painter,  was  born  in  1781 
and  died  in  18«. 

VOL.  II.— I 


2 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


itself  studded  with  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  sails, 
whilst  the  towers  and  palaces  of  magnificent  Venice 
are  seen  rising  out  of  its  waves.  To  the  left  is  Saint 
Mark’s,  to  the  right,  more  in  the  front,  San  Giorgio 
Maggiore.  The  following  words  were  cut  in  the  golden 
frame  of  the  picture. 

Ah ! senza  amare, 

Andare  sul  mare 
Col  sposo  del  mare, 

Non  puo  consolare. 

To  go  on  the  sea 

With  the  spouse  of  the  sea, 

When  loveless  I be, 

Is  no  comfort  to  me. 

One  day  there  arose  before  this  picture  a fruitless 
altercation  as  to  whether  the  artist  really  intended  it 
for  anything  more  than  a mere  picture,  that  is,  the 
temporary  situation,  sufficiently  indicated  by  the  verse, 
of  a decrepit  old  man  who  with  all  his  splendour  and 
magnificence  is  unable  to  satisfy  the  desires  of  a heart 
filled  with  yearning  aspirations,  or  whether  he  intended 
to  represent  an  actual  historical  event.  One  after  the 
other  the  visitors  left  the  place,  tired  of  the  discussion, 
so  that  at  length  there  were  only  two  men  left,  both 
very  good  friends  to  the  noble  art  of  painting.  “I 
can’t  understand,”  said  one  of  them,  “how  people  can 
spoil  all  their  enjoyment  by  eternally  hunting  after 
some  jejune  interpretation  or  explanation.  Indepen- 
dently of  the  fact  that  I have  a pretty  accurate  notion 
of  what  the  relations  in  life  between  this  Doge  and 
Dogess  were,  I am  more  particularly  struck  by  the  sub- 
dued richness  and  power  that  characterises  the  picture 
as  a whole.  Look  at  this  flag  with  the  winged  lions, 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


3 


how  they  flutter  in  the  breeze  as  if  they  swayed  the 
world.  O beautiful  Venice!”  He  began  to  recite 
Turandot’s  1 riddle  of  Lion  of  the  Adriatic,  “ Dimmi, 
qual  sia  quella  terribil  fera,"  &c.  He  had  hardly  come  to 
the  end  when  a sonorous  masculine  voice  broke  in  with 
Calaf’s 2 * * 5 solution,  “Tu  quadrupede  fera,"  &c.  Unob- 
served by  the  friends,  a man  of  tall  and  noble  appear- 
ance, his  grey  mantle  thrown  picturesquely  across  his 
shoulder,  had  taken  up  a position  behind  them,  and 
was  examining  the  picture  with  sparkling  eyes.  They 
got  into  conversation,  and  the  stranger  said  almost  in 
a tone  of  solemnity,  “It  is  indeed  a singular  mystery, 
how  a picture  often  arises  in  the  mind  of  an  artist,  the 
figures  of  which,  previously  indistinguishable,  incorpo- 
rate mist  driving  about  in  empty  space,  first  seem  to 
shape  themselves  into  vitality  in  his  mind,  and  there 
seem  to  find  their  home.  Suddenly  the  picture  con- 
nects itself  with  the  past,  or  even  with  the  future,  rep- 
resenting something  that  has  really  happened  or  that 
will  happen.  Perhaps  it  was  not  known  to  Kolbe  him- 
self that  the  persons  he  was  representing  in  this  pict- 


1 The  story  Turandot  has  a history.  Its  prototype  is  in  the  Persian 
poet  Nizami  (1141-1203).  From  Gozzi  it  was  translated  into  German 
by  Werthes  ; and  it  was  from  his  translation  that  Schiller  worked  up 
his  play  in  November  and  December,  1801.  The  proud  Turandot, 
daughter  of  the  Emperor  of  China,  entertains  such  loathing  of  marriage 

that  she  rejects  all  suitors,  until  on  her  father’s  threatening  to  compel 
her  to  wed,  she  institutes  a kind  of  version  of  the  caskets  in  the 
Merchant  of  Venice.  Any  prince  may  woo  for  her,  but  in  a peculiar 
way.  He  must  solve  three  riddles  in  the  full  assembly  of  the  court.  If 
he  succeeds,  he  wins  the  princess  ; if  he  does  not  succeed,  he  loses  his 
own  head.  In  Gozzi  the  three  riddles  are  about  the  Year,  the  Sun,  and 

(extremely  inapposite  to  the  circumstances)  the  Lion  of  the  Adriatic. 

The  two  last  Schiller  replaced  by  riddles  about  the  Eye  and  the  Plough. 

5 Calaf,  Prince  of  Astrakhan,  successfully  solves  the  riddles  and  wins 
the  Princess  Turandot. 


4 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


ure  are  none  other  than  the  Doge  Marino  Falieri'  and 
his  lady  Annunciata.” 

The  stranger  paused,  but  the  two  friends  urgently 
entreated  him  to  solve  for  them  this  riddle  as  he  had 
solved  that  of  the  Lion  of  the  Adriatic.  Whereupon 
he  replied,  “ If  you  have  patience,  my  inquisitive  sirs,  I 
will  at  once  explain  the  picture  to  you  by  telling  you 
Falieri’s  history.  But  have  you  patience  ? I shall  be 
very  circumstantial,  for  I cannot  speak  otherwise  of 
things  which  stand  so  life-like  before  my  eyes  that  I 
seem  to  have  seen  them  myself.  And  that  may  very 
well  be  the  case,  for  all  historians — amongst  whom  I 
happen  to  be  one — are  properly  a kind  of  talking  ghost 
of  past  ages.” 

The  friends  accompanied  the  stranger  into  a retired 
room,  when,  without  further  preamble,  he  began  as 
follows  : — 

It  is  now  a long  time  ago,  and  if  I mistake  not,  it 
was  in  the  month  of  August,  1354,  that  the  valiant 
Genoese  captain,  Paganino  Doria1  2 by  name,  utterly 
routed  the  Venetians  and  took  their  town  of  Parenzo. 
And  his  well-manned  galleys  were  now  cruising  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  the  Lagune,  close  in  front  of 
Venice,  like  ravenous  beasts  of  prey  which,  goaded  by 
hunger,  roam  restlessly  up  and  down  spying  out  where 

1 The  story  of  this  Doge’s  conspiracy  has  furnished  materials  for  a 
tragedy  to  Byron  (1821),  Casimir  Delavinge  (1829),  and  Albert  Lindner 
(1875).  A translation  of  the  story  is  given  by  Mr.  F.  Cohen  (Sir  F. 
Palgrave)  from  Sanuto’s  Chronicle,  in  the  Appendix  to  the  play  in 
Byron’s  works. 

2 Paganino  Doria,  one  of  the  greatest  of  Genoese  admirals,  took  and 
burnt  Parenzo,  a town  on  the  west  coast  of  Istria,  on  the  nth  of  Au- 
gust, 1354.  At  this  period  the  rivalry  between  the  two  republics, 
Venice  and  Genoa,  in  their  commercial  relations  with  the  East  and  in 
the  Black  Sea,  was  especially  bitter,  and  they  were  almost  constantly 
at  war  with  each  other. 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


5 


they  may  most  safely  pounce  upon  their  victims  ; and 
both  people  and  seignory  were  panic-stricken  with 
fear.  All  the  male  population,  liable  to  military  ser- 
vice, and  everybody  who  could  lift  an  arm,  flew  to 
their  weapons  or  seized  an  oar.  The  harbour  of  Saint 
Nicholas  was  the  gathering-place  for  the  bands.  Ships 
and  trees  were  sunk,  and  chains  riveted  to  chains,  to 
lock  the  harbour-mouth  against  the  enemy.  Whilst 
there  was  heard  the  rattle  of  arms  and  the  wild  tumult 
of  preparation,  and  whilst  the  ponderous  masses  thun- 
dered down  into  the  foaming  sea,  on  the  Rialto  the 
agents  of  the  seignory  were  wiping  the  cold  sweat  from 
their  pale  brows,  and  with  troubled  countenances  and 
hoarse  voices  offering  almost  fabulous  percentage  for 
ready  money,  for  the  straitened  republic  was  in  want 
of  this  necessary  also.  Moreover,  it  was  determined 
by  the  inscrutable  decree  of  Providence  that  just  at 
this  period  of  extreme  distress  and  anxiety,  the  faithful 
shepherd  should  be  taken  away  from  his  troubled  flock. 
Completely  borne  down  by  the  burden  of  the  public 
calamity,  the  Doge  Andrea  Dandolo  1 died  ; the  people 
called  him  the  “ dear  good  count  ” (z7  cai-o  contino ), 
because  he  was  always  cordial  and  kind,  and  never 
crossed  Saint  Mark’s  Square  without  speaking  a word 
of  comfort  to  those  in  need  of  good  advice,  or  giving 
a few  sequins 2 to  those  who  were  in  want  of  money. 
And  as  every  blow  is  wont  to  fall  with  double  sharp- 
ness upon  those  who  are  discouraged  by  misfortune, 
when  at  other  times  they  would  hardly  have  felt  it  at 
all,  so  now,  when  the  people  heard  the  bells  of  Saint 

1 Andrea  Dandolo  (1307-1354),  Doge  from  134310  1354.  During 
his  reign  Venice  actively  extended  her  commercial  conquests  in  the 
Black  Sea  and  the  countries  around  the  Levant,  engaged  part  of  the 
time  in  active  hostilities  with  the  Genoese. 

2 See  note,  p.  63,  vol.  i. 


6 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


Mart's  proclain  in  solemn  muffled  tones  the  death  of 
their  Duke,  they  were  utterly  undone  with  sorrow  and 
grief.  Their  support,  their  hope,  was  now  gone,  and 
they  would  have  to  bend  their  necks  to  the  Genoese 
yoke,  they  cried,  in  despite  of  the  fact  that  Dandolo’s 
loss  did  not  seem  to  have  any  very  counteractive  effect 
upon  the  progress  that  was  being  made  with  all  neces- 
sary warlike  preparations.  The  “ dear  good  count  ” 
had  loved  to  live  in  peace  and  quietness,  preferring  to 
follow  the  wondrous  courses  of  the  stars  rather  than 
the  problematical  complications  of  state  policy  ; he  un- 
derstood how  to  arrange  a procession  on  Easter  Day 
better  than  how  to  lead  an  army. 

The  object  now  was  to  elect  a Doge  who,  endowed  at 
one  and  the  same  time  with  the  valour  and  genius  of  a 
war  captain,  and  with  skill  in  statecraft,  should  save 
Venice,  now  tottering  on  her  foundations,  from  the 
threatening  power  of  her  bold  and  ever-bolder  enemy. 
But  when  the  senators  assembled  there  was  none  but 
what  had  a gloomy  face,  hopeless  looks,  and  head  bent 
earthwards  and  resting  on  his  supporting  hand.  Where 
were  they  to  find  a man  who  could  seize  the  unguided 
helm  and  direct  the  bark  of  the  state  aright  ? At  last 
the  oldest  of  the  councillors,  called  Marino  Bodoeri, 
lifted  up  his  voice  and  said,  “You  will  not  find  him 
here  around  us,  or  amongst  us  ; direct  your  eyes  to 
Avignon,  upon  Marino  Falieri,  whom  we  sent  to  con- 
gratulate Pope  Innocent  1 on  his  elevation  to  the  Papal 
dignity  ; he  can  find  better  work  to  do  now  ; he’s  the 
man  for  us  ; let  us  choose  him  Doge  to  stem  this  cur- 
rent of  adversity.  You  will  urge  by  way  of  objection 
that  he  is  now  almost  eighty  years  old,  that  his  hair 
and  beard  are  white  as  silver,  that  his  blithe  appearance, 


Pope  Innocent  VI.,  Pope  at  Avignon,  from  1352  to  1362. 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


7 


fiery  eye,  and  the  deep  red  of  his  nose  and  cheeks  are 
to  be  ascribed,  as  his  traducers  maintain,  to  good  Cy- 
prus wine  rather  than  to  energy  of  character  ; but  heed 
not  that.  Remember  what  conspicuous  bravery  this 
Marino  Falieri  showed  as  admiral  of  the  fleet  in  the 
Black  Sea,  and  bear  in  mind  the  great  services  which 
prevailed  with  the  Procurators  of  Saint  Mark  to  invest 
this  Falieri  with  the  rich  countship  of  Valdemarino.” 
Thus  highly  did  Bodoeri  extol  Falieri’s  virtues  ; and  he 
had  a ready  answer  for  all  objections,  so  that  at  length 
all  voices  were  unanimous  in  electing  Falieri.  Several, 
however,  still  continued  to  allude  to  his  hot,  passionate 
temper,  his  ambition,  and  his  self-will  ; but  they  were 
met  with  the  reply:  “And  it  is  exactly  because  all 

these  have  gone  from  the  old  man,  that  we  choose  the 
grey-beard  Falieri  and  not  the  youth  Falieri.”  And  these 
censuring  voices  were  completely  silenced  when  the 
people,  learning  upon  whom  the  choice  had  fallen, 
greeted  it  with  the  loudest  and  most  extravagant  dem- 
onstrations of  delight.  Do  we  not  know  that  in  such 
dangerous  times,  in  times  of  such  tension  and  unrest, 
any  resolution  that  really  is  a resolution  is  accepted  as 
an  inspiration  from  Heaven  ? Thus  it  came  to  pass 
that  the  “ dear  good  count  ” and  all  his  gentleness  and 
piety  were  forgotten,  and  every  one  cried,  “ By  Saint 
Mark,  this  Marino  ought  long  ago  to  have  been  our 
Doge,  and  then  we  should  not  have  yon  arrogant  Doria 
before  our  very  doors.”  And  crippled  soldiers  painfully 
lifted  up  their  wounded  arms  and  cried,  “That  is  Fali- 
eri who  beat  the  Morbassan  1 — the  valiant  captain 
whose  victorious  banners  waved  in  the  Black  Sea.” 
Wherever  a knot  of  people  gathered,  there  was  one 

1 Hoffmann  states  that  he  derived  his  materials  for  this  story  from 
Le  Bret’s  “ History  of  Venice,” — a book  which,  unfortunately,  up  to 
the  time  of  going  to  press,  the  translator  had  not  been  able  to  obtain. 


8 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


amongst  them  telling  of  Falieri’s  heroic  deeds  ; ana,  as 
though  Doria  were  already  defeated,  the  air  rang  with 
wild  shouts  of  triumph.  An  additional  reason  for  this 
was  that  Nicolo  Pisani,1  who,  Heaven  knows  why  ! in- 
stead of  going  to  meet  Doria  with  his  fleet,  had  coolly 
sailed  away  to  Sardinia,2  was  now  returned.  Doria 
withdrew  from  the  Lagune  ; and  what  was  really  due 
to  the  approach  of  Pisani’s  fleet  was  ascribed  to  the 
formidable  name  of  Marino  Falieri.  Then  the  people 
and  the  seignory  were  seized  by  a kind  of  frantic  ec- 
stasy that  such  an  auspicious  choice  had  been  made  ; 
and  as  an  uncommon  way  of  testifying  the  same,  it  was 
determined  to  welcome  the  newly  elected  Doge  as  if  he 
were  a messenger  from  heaven  bringing  honour,  vic- 
tory, and  abundance  of  riches.  Twelve  nobles,  each 
accompanied  by  a numerous  retinue  in  rich  dresses, 
had  been  sent  by  the  Seignory  to  Verona,  where  the 
ambassadors  of  the  Republic  were  again  to  announce 
to  Falieri,  on  his  arrival,  with  all  due  ceremony,  his 
elevation  to  the  supreme  office  in  the  state.  Then  fif- 
teen richly  decorated  vessels  of  state,  equipped  by  the 
Podesta 3 of  Chioggia,  and  under  the  command  of  his 
own  son  Taddeo  Giustiniani,  took  the  Doge  and  his  at- 
tendant company  on  board  at  Chiozza  ; and  now  they 
moved  on  like  the  triumphal  procession  of  a most 

1 Nicolo  Pisani,  a very  active  naval  commander  in  the  third  war  with 
Genoa  (1350-1355),  fought  battles  in  the  Bosphorus,  off  Sardinia,  and 
at  Porto  Longo,  near  Modon  (Greece). 

2 Sardinia  was  for  many,  many  years  an  object  of  contention  between 
Pisa,  Genoa,  and  the  Aragonese.  At  this  time  (1354)  it  belonged  to  the 
latter,  but  the  Genoese  were  constantly  endeavouring  to  stir  up  the  peo 
pie  of  the  island  to  revolt  against  the  Aragonese  ; hence  we  may  see  a 
reason  for  Pisani’s  being  in  Sardinian  waters. 

3 Equivalent  to  “ Governor.”  Chioggia  was  an  old  town  thirty  miles 
south  of  Venice,  at  the  southern  extremity  of  the  Lagune.  Chiozza= 
Chioggia. 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


9 


mighty  and  victorious  monarch  to  St.  Clement’s,  where 
the  Bucentaur  1 was  awaiting  the  Doge. 

At  this  very  moment,  namely,  when  Marino  Falieri 
was  about  to  set  foot  on  board  the  Bucentaur,— and  that 
was  on  the  evening  of  the  3d  of  October  about  sunset 
— a poor  unfortunate  man  lay  stretched  at  full  length 
on  the  hard  marble  pavement  in  front  of  the  Custom- 
house. A few  rags  of  striped  linen,  of  a colour  now  no 
longer  recognisable,  the  remains  of  what  apparently 
had  once  been  a sailor’s  dress,  such  as  was  worn  by  the 
very  poorest  of  the  people — porters  and  assistant  oars- 
men, hung  about  his  lean  starved  body.  There  was 
not  a trace  of  a shirt  to  be  seen,  except  the  poor  fellow’s 
own  skin,  which  peeped  through  his  rags  almost  every- 
where, and  was  so  white  and  delicate  that  the  very 
noblest  need  not  have  been  shy  or  ashamed  of  it. 
Accordingly,  his  leanness  only  served  to  display  more 
fully  the  perfect  proportions  of  his  well-knit  frame. 
A careful  scrutiny  of  the  unfortunate’s  light-chestnut 
hair,  now  hanging  all  tangled  and  dishevelled  about  his 
exquisitely  beautiful  forehead,  his  blue  eyes  dimmed 
with  extreme  misery,  his  Roman  nose,  his  fine  formed 
lips — he  seemed  to  be  not  more  than  twenty  years  old 
at  the  most — inevitably  suggested  that  he  was  of  good 
birth,  and  had  by  some  adverse  turn  of  fortune  been 
thrown  amongst  the  meanest  classes  of  the  people. 

As  remarked,  the  youth  lay  in  front  of  the  pillars  of 
the  Custom-house,  his  head  resting  on  his  right  arm, 
and  his  eyes  riveted  in  a vacant  stare  upon  the  sea, 

1 The  state  barge  of  Venice  ; the  word  means  “little  golden  boat.” 
Pope  Alexander  III.  bestowed  upon  the  Doge  Sebastian  Ziani,  for  his 
victory  over  Frederick  Barbarossa  near  Parenzo  on  Ascension  Day,  1177, 
a ring  in  token  of  the  suzerainty  of  Venice  over  the  Adriatic.  From 
this  time  dates  the  observance  of  the  annual  ceremony  of  the  Doge’s 
marrying  the  Adriatic  from  the  Bucentaur. 


IO 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


without  movement  or  change  of  posture.  An  observer 
might  well  have  fancied  that  he  was  devoid  of  life,  or 
that  death  had  fixed  him  there  whilst  turning  him  into 
an  image  of  stone,  had  not  a deep  sigh  escaped  him 
from  time  to  time,  as  if  wrung  from  him  by  unutterable 
pain.  And  they  were  in  fact  occasioned  by  the  pain  of 
his  left  arm,  which  had  apparently  been  seriously 
wounded,  and  was  lying  stretched  out  on  the  pavement, 
wrapped  up  in  bloody  rags. 

All  labour  had  ceased  ; the  hum  of  trade  was  no 
longer  heard  ; all  Venice,  in  thousands  of  boats  and 
gondolas,  was  gone  out  to  meet  the  much-lauded  Fali- 
eri.  Hence  it  was  that  the  unhappy  youth  was  sighing 
away  his  pain  in  utter  helplessness.  But  just  as  his 
weary  head  fell  back  upon  the  pavement,  and  he 
seemed  on  the  point  of  fainting,  a hoarse  and  very 
querulous  voice  cried  several  times  in  succession,  “An- 
tonio, my  dear  Antonio.”  At  length  Antonio  painfully 
raised  himself  partly  up  ; and,  turning  his  head  towards 
th*(  pillars  of  the  Custom-house,  whence  the  voice 
seemed  to  proceed,  he  replied  very  faintly,  and  in  a 
scarce  intelligible  voice,  “ Who  is  calling  me  ? Who 
has  come  to  cast  my  dead  body  into  the  sea,  for  it  will 
soon  be  all  over  with  me.”  Then  a little  shrivelled 
wrinkled  crone  came  up  panting  and  coughing,  hob- 
bling along  by  the  aid  of  her  staff  ; she  approached  the 
wounded  youth,  and  squatting  down  beside  him,  she 
burst  out  into  a most  repulsive  chuckling  and  laughing. 
“ You  foolish  child,  you  foolish  child,”  whispered  the 
old  woman,  “ are  you  going  to  perish  here — will  you 
stay  here  to  die,  while  a golden  fortune  is  waiting  for 
you  ? Look  yonder,  look  yonder  at  yon  blazing  fire  in 
the  west  ; there  are  sequins  for  you  ! But  you  must 
eat,  dear  Antonio,  eat  and  drink  ; for  it's  only  hunger 
which  has  made  you  fall  down  here  on  this  cold  pave* 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


n 


ment.  Your  arm  is  now  quite  well  again,  yes,  that  it 
is.”  Antonio  recognised  in  the  old  crone  the  singular 
beggar-woman  who  was  generally  to  be  seen  on  the 
steps  of  the  Franciscan  Church,  chuckling  to  herself 
and  laughing,  and  soliciting  alms  from  the  worshippers  ; 
he  himself,  urged  by  some  inward  inexplicable  propen- 
sity, had  often  thrown  her  a hard-earned  penny,  which 
he  had  not  had  to  spare.  “ Leave  me,  leave  me  in 
peace,  you  insane  old  woman,”  he  said  ; “ but  you  are 
right,  it  is  hunger  more  than  my  wound  which  has 
made  me  weak  and  miserable  ; for  three  days  I have 
not  earned  a farthing.  I wanted  to  go  over  to  the 
monastery  1 and  see  if  I could  get  a spoonful  or  two  of 
the  soup  that  is  made  for  invalids  ; but  all  my  com- 
panions have  gone  ; there  is  not  one  to  have  compas- 
sion upon  me  and  take  me  in  his  barca  ;2  and  now  I 
have  fallen  down  here,  and  shall,  I expect,  never  get  up 
again.”  “ Hi ! hi ! hi  ! hi  ! ” chuckled  the  old  woman  ; 
“ why  do  you  begin  to  despair  so  soon  ? Why  lose 
heart  so  quickly  ? You  are  thirsty  and  hungry,  but  I 
can  help  you.  Here  are  a few  fine  dried  fish  which  I 
bought  only  to-day  in  the  Mint  ; here  is  lemon-juice  and 
a piece  of  nice  white  bread  ; eat,  my  son  ; and  then  we 
will  look  at  the  wounded  arm.”  And  the  old  woman 
proceeded  to  bring  forth  fish,  bread,  and  lemon  juice 
from  the  bag  which  hung  like  a hood  down  her  back, 

1 San  Giorgio  Maggiore.  Venice,  as  everybody  knows,  is  not  built 
upon  the  mainland  but  upon  islands.  The  two  largest,  whose  greatest 
length  is  from  east  to  west,  are  divided  by  the  Grand  Canal,  upon 
which  are  situated  most  of  the  palaces  and  important  public  buildings. 
South  of  these  two  principal  islands,  and  separated  from  them  by  the 
Giudecca  Canal,  are  the  islands  of  Giudecca  and  San  Giorgio  Maggiore 
close  together,  the  latter  on  the  east  and  opposite  the  south  entrance  to 
the  Grand  Canal,  beyond  which  are  the  Piazetta  and  St.  Mark’s  Square. 

2 This  is  larger  than  the  gondola,  and  also  more  modern  ; it  is  cal- 
culated to  hold  six  persons,  and  even  luggage. 


12 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


and  also  projected  right  above  her  bent  head.  As  soon 
as  Antonio  had  moistened  his  parched  and  burning  lips 
with  the  cool  drink,  he  felt  the  pangs  of  hunger  return 
with  double  fury,  and  he  greedily  devoured  the  bread 
and  the  fish. 

Meanwhile  the  old  woman  was  busy  unwrapping 
the  rags  from  his  wounded  arm,  and  it  was  found  that, 
though  it  was  badly  crushed,  the  wound  was  progress- 
ing favourably  towards  healing.  The  old  woman 
took  a salve  out  of  a little  box  and  warmed  it  with 
the  breath  of  her  mouth,  and  as  she  rubbed  it  on  the 
wound  she  asked,  “But  who  then  has  given  you  such 
a nasty  blow,  my  poor  boy  ? ” Antonio  was  so  re- 
freshed and  charged  anew  with  vital  energy  that  he 
had  raised  himself  completely  up  ; his  eyes  flashed,  and 
he  shook  his  doubled  fist  above  his  head,  crying,  “ Oh  ! 
that  rascal  Nicolo  ; he  tried  to  maim  me,  because  he 
envies  me  every  wretched  penny  that  any  generous  hand 
bestows  upon  me.  You  know,  old  dame,  that  I barely 
managed  to  hold  body  and  soul  together  by  helping  to 
carry  bales  of  goods  from  ships  and  freight-boats  to 
the  depfit  of  the  Germans,  the  so-called  Fontego  1 — of 

course  you  know  the  building  ” Directly  Antonio 

uttered  the  word  Fontego,  the  old  woman  began  to 
chuckle  and  laugh  most  abominably,  and  to  mumble, 
“ Fontego — Fontego — Fontego.”  “ Have  done  with 
your  insane  laughing  if  I am  to  go  on  with  my  story,” 
added  Antonio  angrily.  At  once  the  old  woman  grew 
quiet,  and  Antonio  continued,  “ after  a time  I saved  a 
little  bit  of  money,  and  bought  a new  jerkin,  so  that 
I looked  quite  fine  ; and  then  I got  enrolled  amongst 

1 The  Fondaco  de’  Tedeschi,  erected  in  1506,  on  the  Grand  Canal 
It  was  formerly  decorated  externally  with  paintings  by  Titian  and  his 
pupils.  At  first  it  served  as  a depot  for  the  wares  of  German  merchants 
(whence  its  name),  but  is  now  used  as  a custom-house. 


THE  DOGE  AAD  DOGESS. 


13 


the  gondoliers.  As  I was  always  in  a blithe  humour, 
worked  hard,  and  knew  a great  many  good  songs,  I 
soon  earned  a good  deal  more  than  the  rest.  This, 
however,  awakened  my  comrades’  envy.  They  black- 
ened my  character  to  my  master,  so  that  he  turned 
me  adrift  ; and  everywhere  where  I went  or  where  I 
stood  they  cried  after  me,  ‘ German  cur  ! Cursed 
heretic  ! ’ Three  days  ago,  as  I was  helping  to  unload 
a boat  near  St.  Sebastian,  they  fell  upon  me  with 
sticks  and  stones.  I defended  myself  stoutly,  but  that 
malicious  Nicolo  dealt  me  a blow  with  his  oar,  which 
grazed  my  head  and  severely  injured  my  arm,  and 
knocked  me  on  the  ground.  Ay,  you’ve  given  me  a 
good  meal,  old  woman,  and  I am  sure  I feel  that  your 
salve  has  done  my  arm  a world  of  good.  See,  I can 
already  move  it  easily — now  I shall  be  able  to  row 
bravely  again.”  Antonio  had  risen  up  from  the 
ground,  and  was  swinging  his  arm  violently  backwards 
and  forwards,  but  the  old  woman  again  fell  to  chuck- 
ling and  laughing  loudly,  whilst  she  hobbled  round 
about  him  in  the  most  extraordinary  fashion — dancing 
with  short  tripping  steps  as  it  were — and  she  cried, 
“ My  son,  my  good  boy,  my  good  lad — row  on  bravely 
— he  is  coming — he  is  coming.  The  gold  is  shining 
red  in  the  bright  flames.  Row  on  stoutly,  row  on  ; 
but  only  once  more,  only  once  more  ; and  then  never 
again.” 

But  Antonio  was  not  paying  the  slightest  heed  to 
the  old  woman’s  words,  for  the  most  splendid  of  spec- 
tacles was  unfolding  itself  before  his  eyes.  The  Bu- 
centaur,  with  the  Lion  of  the  Adriatic  on  her  fluttering 
standard,  was  coming  along  from  St.  Clement's  to  the 
measured  stroke  of  the  oars  like  a mighty  winged 
golden  swan.  Surrounded  by  innumerable  barcas  and 
gondolas,  and  with  her  head  proudly  and  boldly  raised, 


14 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


she  appeared  like  a princess  commanding  a triumphing 
army,  that  had  emerged  from  the  depths  of  the  sea, 
wearing  bright  and  gaily  decked  helmets.  The  even- 
ing sun  was  sending  down  his  fiery  rays  upon  the  sea 
and  upon  Venice,  so  that  everything  appeared  to  have 
been  plunged  into  a bath  of  blazing  fire  ; but  whilst 
Antonio,  completely  forgetful  of  all  his  unhappiness, 
was  standing  gazing  with  wonder  and  delight,  the 
gleams  of  the  sun  grew  more  bloody  and  more  bloody. 
The  wind  whistled  shrilly  and  harshly,  and  a hollow 
threatening  echo  came  rolling  in  from  the  open  sea 
outside.  Down  burst  the  storm  in  the  midst  of  black 
clouds,  and  enshrouded  all  in  thick  darkness,  whilst 
the  waves  rose  higher  and  higher,  pouring  in  from  the 
thundering  sea  like  foaming  hissing  monsters,  threaten- 
ing to  engulf  everything.  The  gondolas  and  barcas 
were  driven  in  all  directions  like  scattered  feathers. 
The  Bucentaur,  unable  to  resist  the  storm  owing  to  its 
flat  bottom,  was  yawing  from  side  to  side.  Instead  of 
the  jubilant  notes  of  trumpets  and  cornets,  there  was 
heard  through  the  storm  the  anxious  cries  of  those  in 
distress. 

Antonio  gazed  upon  the  scene  like  one  stupefied, 
without  sense  and  motion.  But  then  there  came  a 
rattling  of  chains  immediately  in  front  of  him  ; he 
looked  down,  and  saw  a little  canoe,  which  was 
chained  to  the  wall,  and  was  being  tossed  up  and 
down  by  the  waves  ; and  a thought  entered  his  mind 
like  a flash  of  lightning.  He  leaped  into  the  canoe, 
unfastened  it,  seized  the  oar  which  he  found  in  it,  and 
pushed  out  boldly  and  confidently  into  the  sea,  directly 
towards  the  Bucentaur.  The  nearer  he  came  to  it  the 
more  distinctly  could  he  hear  shouts  for  help.  “ Here, 
here,  come  here — save  the  Doge,  save  the  Doge."  It 
is  well  known  that  little  fisher-canoes  are  safer  and 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


15 


better  to  manage  in  the  Lagune  when  it  is  stormy 
than  are  larger  boats ; and  accordingly  these  little 
craft  were  hastening  from  all  sides  to  the  rescue  of 
Marino  Falieri’s  invaluable  person.  But  it  is  an 
invariable  principle  in  life  that  the  Eternal  Power 
reserves  every  bold  deed  as  a brilliant  success  to  the 
one  specially  chosen  for  it,  and  hence  all  others  have 
all  their  pains  for  nothing.  And  as  on  this  occasion 
it  was  poor  Antonio  who  was  destined  to  achieve  the 
rescue  of  the  newly  elected  Doge,  he  alone  succeeded 
in  working  his  way  on  to  the  Bucentaur  in  his  little 
insignificant  fisher-canoe.  Old  Marino  Falieri,  familiar 
with  such  dangers,  stepped  firmly,  without  a moment’s 
hesitation,  from  the  sumptuous  but  treacherous  Bu- 
centaur into  poor  Antonio’s  little  craft,  which,  gliding 
smoothly  over  the  raging  waves  like  a dolphin,  brought 
him  in  a few  minutes  to  St.  Mark's  Square.  The  old 
man,  his  clothing  saturated  with  wet,  and  with  large 
drops  of  sea-spray  in  his  grey  beard,  was  conducted 
into  the  church,  where  the  nobles  with  blanched  faces 
concluded  the  ceremonies  connected  with  the  Doge’s 
public  entry.  But  the  people,  as  well  as  the  seignory, 
confounded  by  this  unfortunate  contretemps,  to  which 
was  also  added  the  fact  that  the  Doge,  in  the  hurry 
and  confusion,  had  been  led  between  the  two  columns 
where  common  malefactors  were  generally  executed, 
grew  silent  in  the  midst  of  their  triumph,  and  thus  the 
day  that  had  begun  in  festive  fashion  ended  in  gloom 
and  sadness. 

Nobody  seemed  to  think  about  the  Doge’s  rescuer; 
nor  did  Antonio  himself  think  about  it,  for  he  was 
lying  in  the  peristyle  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  half  dead 
with  fatigue,  and  fainting  with  the  pain  caused  by  his 
wound,  which  had  again  burst  open.  He  was  there- 
fore all  the  more  surprised  when  just  before  midnight 


i6 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


a Ducal  halberdier  took  him  by  the  shoulders,  saying, 
“ Come  along,  friend,”  and  led  him  into  the  palace, 
where  he  pushed  him  into  the  Duke’s  chamber.  The 
old  man  came  to  meet  him  with  a kindly  smile,  and 
said,  pointing  to  a couple  of  purses  lying  on  the  table, 
“You  have  borne  yourself  bravely,  my  son.  Here; 
take  these  three  thousand  sequins,  and  if  you  want 
more  ask  for  them  ; but  have  the  goodness  never  to 
come  into  my  presence  again.”  As  he  said  these  last 
words  the  old  man’s  eyes  flashed  with  fire,  and  the  tip 
of  his  nose  grew  a darker  red.  Antonio  could  not 
fathom  the  old  man’s  mind ; he  did  not,  however, 
trouble  himself  overmuch  about  it,  but  with  some  little 
difficulty  took  up  the  purses,  which  he  believed  he  had 
honestly  and  rightly  earned. 

Next  morning  old  Falieri,  conspicuous  in  the  splen- 
dours of  his  newly  acquired  dignity,  stood  in  one  of  the 
lofty  bay  windows  of  the  palace,  watching  the  bustling 
scene  below,  where  the  people  were  busy  engaged  in 
practising  all  kinds  of  weapons,  when  Bodoeri,  who 
from  the  days  when  he  was  a youth  had  enjoyed  the 
intimate  and  unchangeable  friendship  of  the  Doge, 
entered  the  apartment.  As,  however,  the  Doge  was 
quite  wrapped  up  in  himself  and  his  dignity,  and  did 
not  appear  to  notice  his  entrance,  Bodoeri  clapped  his 
hands  together  and  cried  with  a loud  laugh,  “ Come, 
Falieri,  what  are  all  these  sublime  thoughts  that  are 
being  hatched  and  nourished  in  your  mind  since  you 
first  put  the  Doge's  bent  bonnet  on  ?”  Falieri,  coming 
to  himself  like  one  awakening  from  a dream,  stepped 
forward  to  meet  his  old  friend  with  an  air  of  forced 
amiability.  He  felt  that  he  really  owed  his  bonnet  to 
Bodoeri,  and  the  words  of  the  latter  seemed  to  be  a 
reminder  of  the  fact.  But  since  every  obligation 
weighed  like  a burden  upon  Falieri’s  proud  ambitious 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


17 


spirit,  and  he  could  not  dismiss  the  oldest  member  of 
the  Council,  and  his  tried  friend  to  boot,  as  he  had  dis- 
missed poor  Antonio,  he  constrained  himself  to  utter  a 
few  words  of  thanks,  and  immediately  began  to  speak 
of  the  measures  to  be  adopted  to  meet  their  enemy, 
wTho  was  now  developing  so  great  an  activity  in  every 
direction.  Bodoeri  interrupted  him  and  said,  cunningly 
smiling,  “ That,  and  all  else  that  the  state  demands  of 
you,  we  will  maturely  weigh  and  consider  an  hour  or 
two  hence  in  a full  meeting  of  the  Great  Council.  I 
have  not  come  to  you  thus  early  in  order  to  invent  a 
plan  for  defeating  yon  presumptuous  Doria  or  bringing 
to  reason  Louis1  the  Hungarian,  who  is  again  setting 
his  longing  eyes  upon  our  Dalmatian  seaports.  No, 
Marino,  I was  thinking  solely  about  you,  and  about 
what  you  perhaps  would  not  guess — your  marriage.” 
“ How  came  you  to  think  of  such  a thing  as  that  ? ” re- 
plied the  Doge,  greatly  annoyed  ; and  rising  to  his  feet, 
he  turned  his  back  upon  Bodoeri  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  “ It’s  a long  time  to  Ascension  Day.  By  that 
time  I hope  the  enemy  will  be  routed,  and  that  victory, 
honour,  additional  riches,  and  a wider  extension  of 
power  will  have  been  won  for  the  sea-born  lion  of  the 
Adriatic.  The  chaste  bride  shall  find  her  bridegroom 
worthy  of  her.”  “Pshaw!  pshaw!”  interrupted  Bodo- 
eri, impatiently;  “you  are  talking  about  that  memo- 
rable ceremony  on  Ascension  Day,  when  you  will  throw 
the  gold  ring  from  the  Bucentaur  into  the  waves  under 
the  impression  that  you  are  wedding  the  Adriatic  Sea. 
But  do  you  not  know, — you,  Marino,  you,  kinsman  to 
the  sea, — of  any  other  bride  than  the  cold,  damp, 

1 Louis  I.  the  Great  of  Hungary  (1342-1382).  The  Dalmatian  and 
Istrian  sea-board  formed  a fruitful  source  of  contention  between  the 
Venetians  and  Hungary,  Louis  proving  a very  formidable  opponent  to 
the  Republic. 

Vol.  II.— 2 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


treacherous  element  which  you  delude  yourself  into 
the  belief  that  you  rule,  and  which  only  yesterday  re- 
volted against  you  in  such  dangerous  fashion  ? Marry, 
how  can  you  fancy  lying  in  the  arms  of  such  a bride — 
of  such  a wild,  wayward  thing  ? Why  when  you  only 
just  skimmed  her  lips  as  you  rode  along  in  the  Bucen- 
taur  she  at  once  began  to  rage  and  storm.  Would  an 
entire  Vesuvius  of  fiery  passion  suffice  to  warm  the  icy 
bosom  of  such  a false  bride  as  that  ? Continually  faith- 
less, she  is  wedded  time  after  time,  nor  does  she  receive 
the  ring  as  a treasured  symbol  of  love,  but  she  extorts  it 
as  a tribute  from  a slave  ? No,  Marino,  I was  thinking 
of  your  marriage  to  the  most  beautiful  child  of  the 
earth  than  can  be  found.”  “You  are  prating  utter  non- 
sense, utter  nonsense,  I tell  you,  old  man,”  murmured 
Falieri  without  turning  away  from  the  window.  “ I,  a 
grey-haired  old  man,  eighty  years  of  age,  burdened 
with  toil  and  trouble,  who  have  never  been  married, 

and  now  hardly  capable  of  loving” “ Stop,”  cried 

Bodoeri,  “ don’t  slander  yourself.  Does  not  the  Winter, 
however  rough  and  cold  he  may  be,  at  last  stretch  out 
his  longing  arms  towards  the  beautiful  goddess  who 
comes  to  meet  him  borne  by  balmy  western  winds  ? 
And  when  he  presses  her  to  his  benumbed  bosom, 
when  a gentle  glow  pervades  his  veins,  where  then  is 
his  ice  and  his  snow  ? You  say  you  are  eighty  years  old  ; 
that  is  true  ; but  do  you  measure  old  age  then  by  years 
merely  ? Don’t  you  carry  your  head  as  erect  and  walk 
with  as  firm  a step  as  you  did  forty  summers  ago  ? Or 
do  you  perhaps  feel  that  your  strength  is  failing  you, 
that  you  must  carry  a lighter  sword,  that  you  grow  faint 
when  you  walk  fast,  or  get  short  of  breath  when  you 
ascend  the  steps  of  the  Ducal  Palace?”  “No,  by 
Heaven,  no,”  broke  in  Falieri  upon  his  friend,  as  he 
turned  away  from  the  window  with  an  abrupt  passion- 


• THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


19 


ate  movement  and  approached  him,  “no,  I feel  no 
traces  of  age  upon  me.”  “Well  then,”  continued 
Bodoeri,  ‘ take  deep  draughts  in  your  old  age  of  all 
the  delights  of  earth  which  are  now  destined  for  you. 
Elevate  the  woman  whom  I have  chosen  for  you  to  be 
your  Dogess  ; and  then  all  the  ladies  of  Venice  will  be 
constrained  to  admit  that  she  stands  first  of  all  in 
beauty  and  in  virtue,  even  as  the  Venetians  recognise 
in  you  their  captain  in  valour,  intellect,  and  power.” 
Bodoeri  now  began  to  sketch  the  picture  of  a beauti- 
ful woman,  and  in  doing  so  he  knew  how  to  mix  his 
colours  so  cleverly,  and  lay  them  on  with  so  much 
vigour  and  effect,  that  old  Falieri’s  eyes  began  to 
sparkle,  and  his  face  grew  redder  and  redder,  whilst  he 
puckered  up  his  mouth  and  smacked  his  lips  as  if  he 
were  draining  sundry  glasses  of  fiery  Syracuse.  “ But 
who  is  this  paragon  of  loveliness  of  whom  you  are 
speaking  ? ” said  he  at  last  with  a smirk.  “ I mean 
nobody  else  but  my  dear  niece — it’s  she  I mean,” 
replied  Bodoeri.  “What!  your  niece?”  interrupted 
Falieri.  “Why,  she  was  married  to  Bertuccio  Nenolo 
when  I was  Podesta  of  Treviso.”  “Oh!  you  are  think- 
ing about  my  niece  Francesca,”  continued  Bodoeri, 
“but  it  is  her  sweet  daughter  whom  I intend  for  you. 
You  know  how  rude,  rough  Nenolo  was  enticed  to  the 
wars  and  drowned  at  sea.  Francesca  buried  her  pain 
and  grief  in  a Roman  nunnery,  and  so  I had  little 
Annunciata  brought  up  in  strict  seclusion  at  my  villa 
in  Treviso” “What! ’’cried  Falieri,  again  impa- 

tiently interrupting  the  old  man,  “ you  mean  me  to  raise 
your  niece’s  daughter  to  the  dignity  of  Dogess?  How 
long  is  it  since  Nenolo  was  married  ? Annunciata  must 
be  a child — at  the  most  only  ten  years  old.  When  I 
was  Podesta  in  Treviso,  Nenolo  had  not  even  thought 
of  marrying,  and  that’s  ” “ Twenty-five  years  ago,” 


20 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


interposed  Bodoeri,  laughing  ; “come,  you  are  getting 
all  at  sea  with  your  memory  of  the  flight  of  time,  it 
goes  so  rapidly  with  you.  Annunciata  is  a maiden 
of  nineteen,  beautiful  as  the  sun,  modest,  submissive, 
inexperienced  in  love,  for  she  has  hardly  ever  seen  a 
man.  She  will  cling  to  you  with  childlike  affection 
and  unassuming  devotion.”  “ I will  see  her,  I will  see 
her,”  exclaimed  the  Doge,  whose  eyes  again  beheld  the 
picture  of  the  beautiful  Annunciata  which  Bodoeri  had 
sketched. 

His  desire  was  gratified  the  self-same  day  ; for  im- 
mediately he  got  back  to  his  own  apartments  from  the 
meeting  of  the  Great  Council,  the  crafty  Bodoeri,  who 
no  doubt  had  many  reasons  for  wishing  to  see  his  niece 
Dogess  at  Falieri’s  side,  brought  the  lovely  Annunciata 
to  him  secretly.  Now,  when  old  Falieri  saw  the  angelic 
maiden,  he  was  quite  taken  aback  by  her  wonderful 
beauty,  and  was  scarcely  able  to  stammer  out  a few  un- 
intelligible words  as  he  sued  for  her  hand.  Annunciata, 
no  doubt  well  instructed  by  Bodoeri  beforehand,  fell 
upon  her  knees  before  the  princely  old  man,  her  cheeks 
flushing  crimson.  She  grasped  his  hand  and  pressed 
it  to  her  lips,  softly  whispering,  “ O sir,  will  you  indeed 
honour  me  by  raising  me  to  a place  at  your  side  on 
your  princely  throne  ? Oh  ! then  I will  reverence  you 
from  the  depths  of  my  soul,  and  will  continue  your 
faithful  handmaiden  as  long  as  I have  breath.”  Old 
Falieri  was  beside  himself  with  happiness  and  delight. 
As  Annunciata  took  his  hand  he  felt  a convulsive  throb 
in  every  limb  ; and  then  his  head  and  all  his  body 
began  to  tremble  and  totter  to  such  a degree  that  he 
had  to  sink  hurriedly  into  his  great  arm-chair.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  were  about  to  refute  Bodoeri’s  good 
opinion  as  to  the  strength  and  toughness  of  his  eighty 
summers.  Bodoeri,  in  fact,  could  not  keep  back  the 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


21 


peculiar  smile  that  darted  across  his  lips  ; innocent,  un- 
sophisticated Annunciata  observed  nothing;  and  hap- 
pily no  one  else  was  present.  Finally  it  was  resolved 
for  some  reason — either  because  old  Falieri  felt  in  what 
an  uncomfortable  position  he  would  appear  in  the  eyes 
of  the  people  as  the  betrothed  of  a maiden  of  nineteen, 
or  because  it  occurred  to  him  as  a sort  of  presentiment 
that  the  Venetians,  who  were  so  prone  to  mockery, 
ought  not  to  be  so  directly  challenged  to  indulge  in  it, 
or  because  he  deemed  it  better  to  say  nothing  at  all 
about  the  critical  period  of  betrothal — at  any  rate,  it 
was  resolved,  with  Bodoeri’s  consent,  that  the  marriage 
should  be  celebrated  with  the  greatest  secrecy,  and 
that  then  some  days  later  the  Dogess  should  be  intro- 
duced to  the  seignory  and  the  people  as  if  she  had  been 
some  time  married  to  Falieri,  and  had  just  arrived  from 
Treviso,  where  she  had  been  staying  during  Falieri’s 
mission  to  Avignon. 

Let  us  now  turn  our  eyes  upon  yon  neatly  dressed 
handsome  youth  who  is  going  up  and  down  the  Rialto 
with  his  purse  of  sequins  in  his  hand,  conversing  with 
Jews,  Turks,  Armenians,  Greeks.1  He  turns  away  his 
face  with  a frown,  walks  on  further,  stands  still,  turns 
round,  and  ultimately  has  himself  rowed  by  a gondolier 
to  St.  Mark’s  Square.  There  he  walks  up  and  down 
with  uncertain  hesitating  steps,  his  arms  folded  and  his 
eyes  bent  upon  the  ground  ; nor  does  he  observe,  or 
even  have  any  idea,  that  all  the  whispering  and  low 
coughing  from  various  windows  and  various  richly 
draped  balconies  are  love-signals  which  are  meant  for 

1 At  this  epoch  Venice  was  the  mart  and  mediatory  between  the 
West  and  the  East,  the  commercial  riches  of  the  latter  having  been 
opened  up  to  the  feudal  civilisation  of  Europe,  chiefly  through  the 
Crusades.  Hence  the  cosmopolitan  character  of  the  merchants  on  the 
Rialto. 


22 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


him.  Who  would  have  easily  recognised  in  this  youth 
the  same  Antonio  who  a few  days  before  had  lain  on 
the  marble  pavement  in  front  of  the  Custom-house, 
poor,  ragged,  and  miserable  ? “ My  dear  boy ! My 

dear  golden  boy,  Antonio,  good  day,  good  day!  ” Thus 
he  was  greeted  by  the  old  beggar-woman,  who  sat  on 
the  steps  leading  to  St.  Mark’s  Church,  and  whom  he 
was  going  past  without  observing.  Turning  abruptly 
round,  he  recognised  the  old  woman,  and,  dipping  his 
hand  into  his  purse,  took  out  a handful  of  sequins  with 
the  intention  of  throwing  them  to  her.  “ Oh  ! keep 
your  gold  in  your  purse,”  chuckled  and  laughed  the 
old  woman  ; “ what  should  I do  with  your  money  ? am 
I not  rich  enough  ? But  if  you  want  to  do  me  a'  kind- 
ness, get  me  a new  hood  made,  for  this  which  I am  now 
wearing  is  no  longer  any  protection  against  wind  and 
weather.  Yes,  please  get  me  one,  my  dear  boy,  my 
dear  golden  boy, — but  keep  away  from  the  Fontego, — 
keep  away  from  the  Fontego.”  Antonio  stared  into 
the  old  woman’s  pale  yellow  face,  the  deep  wrinkles  in 
which  twitched  convulsively  in  a strange  awe-inspiring 
way.  And  when  she  clapped  her  lean  bony  hands  to- 
gether so  that  the  joints  cracked,  and  continued  her 
disagreeable  laugh,  and  went  on  repeating  in  a hoarse 
voice,  “ Keep  away  from  the  Fontego,”  Antonio  cried, 
“ Can  you  not  have  done  with  that  mad  insane  non- 
sense, you  old  witch  ? ” 

As  Antonio  uttered  this  word,  the  old  woman,  as  if 
struck  by  a lightning-flash,  came  rolling  down  the  high 
marble  steps  like  a ball.  Antonio  leapt  forward  and 
grasped  her  by  both  hands,  and  so  prevented  her  from 
falling  heavily.  “ O my  good  lad,  my  good  lad,”  said 
the  old  crone  in  alow,  querulous  voice,  “ what  a hideous 
word  that  was  which  you  uttered.  Kill  me  rather  than 
repeat  that  word  to  me  again.  Oh  ! you  don’t  know 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


23 


how  deeply  you  have  cut  me  to  the  heart,  me — who 
have  such  a true  affection  for  you — no,  you  don’t 

know” Abruptly  breaking  off,  she  wrapped  up  her 

head  in  the  dark  brown  cloth  flaps  which  covered  her 
shoulders  like  a short  mantle,  and  sighed  and  moaned 
as  if  suffering  unspeakable  pain.  Antonio  felt  his 
heart  strangely  moved  ; lifting  up  the  old  woman,  he 
carried  her  up  into  the  vestibule  of  the  church,  and  set 
her  down  upon  one  of  the  marble  benches  which  were 
there.  “ You  have  been  kind  to  me,  old  woman,”  he 
began,  after  he  had  liberated  her  head  from  the  ugly 
cloth  flaps,  “ you  have  been  kind  to  me,  since  it  is  to 
you  that  I really  owe  all  my  prosperity  ; for  if  you  had 
not  stood  by  me  in  the  hour  of  need,  I should  long  ere 
this  have  been  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  nor  should  I 
have  rescued  the  old  Doge,  and  received  these  good 
sequins.  But  even  if  you  had  not  shown  that  kindness 
to  me,  I yet  feel  that  I should  have  a special  liking  for 
you  as  long  as  I live,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  your  in- 
sane behaviour — chuckling  and  laughing  so  horribly— 
strikes  my  heart  with  awe.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  old 
dame,  even  when  I had  hard  work  to  get  a living  by 
carrying  merchandise  and  rowing,  I always  felt  as  if  I 
must  work  still  harder  that  I might  have  a few  pence 
to  give  you.”  “ O son  of  my  heart,  my  golden  Tonino,” 
cried  the  old  woman,  raising  her  shrivelled  arms  above 
her  head,  whilst  her  staff  fell  rattling  on  the  marble 
floor  and  rolled  away  from  her,  “ O Tonino  mine,  I know 
it  ; yes,  I know  it  ; you  must  cling  to  me  with  all  your 
soul,  you  may  do  as  you  will,  for — but  hush ! hush  ! 
hush  ! ” The  old  woman  stooped  painfully  down  in 
order  to  reach  her  staff,  but  Antonio  picked  it  up  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

Leaning  her  sharp  chin  on  her  staff,  and  riveting 
her  eyes  in  a set  stare  upon  the  ground,  she  began  to 


24 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


speak  in  a reserved  but  hollow  voice,  “ Tell  me,  my 
child,  have  you  no  recollection  at  all  of  any  former  time, 
of  what  you  did  or  where  you  were  before  you  found 
yourself  here,  a poor  wretch  hardly  able  to  keep  body 
and  soul  together  ? ” With  a deep  sigh,  Antonio  took 
his  seat  beside  the  old  crone  and  then  began,  “Alas! 
mother,  only  too  well  do  I know  that  I was  born  of  par- 
ents living  in  the  most  prosperous  circumstances  ; but 
who  they  were  and  how  I came  to  leave  them,  of  this  I 
have  not  the  slightest  notion,  nor  could  I have.  I re- 
member very  well  a tall  handsome  man,  who  often  took 
me  in  his  arms  and  smothered  me  with  kisses  and  put 
sweets  in  my  mouth.  And  I can  also  in  the  same  way 
call  to  mind  a pleasant  and  pretty  lady,  who  used  to 
dress  and  undress  me  and  place  me  in  a soft  little  bed 
every  night,  and  who  in  fact  was  very  kind  to  me  in 
every  way.  They  used  to  talk  to  me  in  a foreign, 
sonorous  language,  and  I also  stammered  several  words 
of  the  same  tongue  after  them.  Whilst  I was  an 
oarsman  my  jealous  rivals  used  to  say  I must  be  of 
German  origin,  from  the  colour  of  my  hair  and  eyes, 
and  from  my  general  build.  And  this  I believe  myself, 
for  the  language  which  that  man  spoke  (he  must  have 
been  my  father)  was  German.  But  the  most  vivid 
recollection  which  I have  of  that  time  is  that  of  one 
terrible  night,  when  I was  awakened  out  of  deep  sleep 
by  a fearful  scream  of  distress.  People  were  running 
about  the  house  ; doors  were  being  opened  and  banged 
to ; I grew  terribly  frightened,  and  began  to  cry 
loudly.  Then  the  lady  who  used  to  dress  me  and  take 
care  of  me  burst  into  the  room,  snatched  me  out  of 
bed,  stopped  my  mouth,  enveloped  me  in  shawls,  and 
ran  off  with  me.  From  that  moment  I can  remember 
nothing  more,  until  I found  myself  again  in  a splen- 
did house,  situated  in  a most  charming  district.  Then 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


25 


there  rises  up  the  image  of  a man  whom  I called 
‘father,’  a majestic  man  of  noble  but  benevolent  ap- 
pearance. Like  all  the  rest  in  the  house,  he  spoke 
Italian. 

“ For  several  weeks  I had  not  seen  my  father,  when 
one  day  several  ugly-looking  strangers  came  and  kicked 
up  a great  deal  of  noise  in  the  house,  rummaging  about 
and  turning  out  everything.  When  they  saw  me  they 
asked  who  I was,  and  what  I was  doing  there  ? ‘ Don’t 
you  know  I’m  Antonio,  and  belong  to  the  house?’  I 
replied  ; but  they  laughed  in  my  face  and  tore  off  all 
my  fine  clothes  and  turned  me  out  of  doors,  threaten- 
ing to  have  me  whipped  if  I dared  to  show  myself 
again.  I ran  away  screaming  and  crying.  I had  not 
gone  a hundred  yards  from  the  house  when  I met  an 
old  man,  whom  I recognised  as  being  one  of  my  fos- 
ter-father’s servants.  ‘Come  along,  Antonio,’ he  said, 
taking  hold  of  my  hand,  ‘ come  along,  my  poor  boy, 
that  house  is  now  closed  to  us  both  for  ever.  We  must 
both  look  out  and  see  how  we  can  earn  a crust  of 
bread.’ 

“ The  old  man  brought  me  along  with  him  here. 
He  was  not  so  poor  as  he  seemed  to  be  from  his  mean 
clothing.  Directly  we  arrived  I saw  him  rip  up  his 
jerkin  and  produce  a bag  of  sequins  ; and  he  spent  the 
whole  day  running  about  on  the  Rialto,  now  acting  as 
broker,  now  dealing  on  his  own  account.  I had  always 
to  be  close  at  his  heels  ; and  whenever  he  had  made 
a bargain  he  had  a habit  of  begging  a trifle  for  the 
figliuolo  (little  boy).  Every  one  whom  I looked  boldly 
in  the  face  was  glad  to  pull  out  a few  pence,  which 
the  old  man  pocketed  with  infinite  satisfaction,  affirm- 
ing, as  he  stroked  my  cheeks,  that  he  was  saving  it  up 
to  buy  me  a new  jerkin.  I was  very  comfortable  with 
the  old  man,  whom  the  people  called  Old  Father  Blue- 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


26 

nose,  though  for  what  reason  I don’t  know.  But  this 
life  did  not  last  long.  You  will  remember  that  terrible 
time,  old  woman,  when  one  day  the  earth  began  to 
tremble,  and  towers  and  palaces  were  shaken  to  their 
very  foundations  and  began  to  reel  and  totter,  and  the 
bells  to  ring  as  if  tolled  by  the  arms  of  invisible  giants. 
Hardly  seven  years  have  passed  since  that  day.  Fortu- 
nately I escaped  along  with  my  old  man  out  of  the 
house  before  it  fell  in  with  a crash  behind  us.  There 
was  no  business  doing  ; everybody  on  the  Rialto  seemed 
stunned,  and  everything  lifeless.  But  this  dreadful 
event  was  only  the  precursor  of  another  approaching 
monster,  which  soon  breathed  out  its  poisonous  breath 
over  the  town  and  the  surrounding  country.  It  was 
known  that  the  pestilence,  which  had  first  made  its  way 
from  the  Levant  into  Sicily,  was  committing  havoc  in 
Tuscany.1  As  yet  Venice  had  been  spared.  One  day 
Old  Father  Bluenose  was  dealing  with  an  Armenian  on 
the  Rialto  ; they  were  agreed  over  their  bargain,  and 
warmly  shook  hands.  Father  Bluenose  had  sold  the 
Armenian  certain  good  wares  at  a very  low  price,  and 
now  asked  for  the  usual  trifle  for  the  figliuolo.  The 
stranger,  a big  stalwart  man  with  a thick  curly  beard 
(I  can  see  him  now),  bent  a kind  look  upon  me,  and 
then  kissed  me,  pressing  a few  sequins  into  my  hand, 
which  I hastily  pocketed.  We  took  a gondola  to  St. 
Mark’s.  On  the  way  the  old  man  asked  me  for  the  se- 
quins, but  for  some  reason  or  other,  I don’t  know  what 
induced  me  to  do  it,  I maintained  that  I must  keep  them 
myself,  since  the  Armenian  had  washed  me  to  do  so. 

'In  the  year  1348,  Venice  was  visited  by  an  earthquake,  and  this 
was  followed  by  the  plague  (the  Black  Death).  In  order  to  complete 
the  roll  of  the  republic’s  misfortunes  in  this  gloomy  year,  it  may  be 
added  that  she  also  lost  almost  the  whole  of  her  Black  Sea  fleet  to  the 
Genoese. 


THE  DOGE  AND  DO  GE  SS. 


27 


The  old  man  got  angry  ; but  whilst  he  was  quarrelling 
with  me  I noticed  a disagreeable  dirty  yellow  colour 
spreading  over  his  face,  and  that  he  was  mixing  up  all 
sorts  of  incoherent  nonsense  in  his  talk.  When  we 
reached  the  Square  he  reeled  about  like  a drunken  man, 
until  he  fell  to  the  ground  in  front  of  the  Ducal  Palace 
— dead.  With  a loud  wail  I threw  myself  upon  the 
corpse.  The  people  came  running  round  us,  but  as 
soon  as  the  dreaded  cry  4 The  pestilence  ! the  pesti- 
lence ! ’ was  heard,  they  scattered  and  flew  apart  in 
terror.  At  the  same  moment  I was  seized  by  a dull 
numbing  pain,  and  my  senses  left  me. 

“ When  I awoke  I found  I was  in  a spacious  room, 
lying  on  a plain  mattress,  and  covered  with  a blanket. 
Round  about  me  there  were  fully  twenty  or  thirty 
other  pale  ghastly  forms  lying  on  similar  mattresses. 
As  I learned  later,  certain  compassionate  monks,  who 
happened  to  be  just  coming  out  of  St.  Mark’s,  had,  on 
finding  signs  of  life  in  me,  put  me  in  a gondola  and 
got  me  taken  over  to  Giudecca  into  the  monastery 
of  San  Giorgio  Maggiore,  where  the  Benedictines  had 
established  a hospital.  How  can  I describe  to  you, 
old  woman,  this  moment  of  re-awakening  ? The  vio- 
lence of  the  plague  had  completely  robbed  me  of  all 
recollections  of  the  past.  Just  as  if  the  spark  of  life 
had  been  suddenly  dropped  into  a lifeless  statue,  I had 
but  a momentary  kind  of  existence,  so  to  speak,  linked 
on  to  nothing.  You  may  imagine  what  trouble,  what 
distress  this  life  occasioned  me  in  which  my  conscious- 
ness seemed  to  swim  in  empty  space  without  an  an- 
chorage. All  that  the  monks  could  tell  me  was  that  I 
had  been  found  beside  Father  Bluenose,  whose  son  I 
was  generally  accounted  to  be.  Gradually  and  slowly 
I gathered  my  thoughts  together,  and  tried  to  reflect 
upon  my  previous  life,  but  what  I have  told  you,  old 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


dame,  is  all  that  I can  remember  of  it,  and  that  consists 
only  of  certain  individual  disconnected  pictures.  Oh  ! 
this  miserable  being-alone-in-the-world  ! I can’t  be 
gay  and  happy,  no  matter  what  may  happen  ! ” “ To- 

nino,  my  dear  Tonino,”  said  the  old  woman,  “be  con- 
tented with  what  the  present  moment  gives  you.” 

“ Say  no  more,  old  woman,  say  no  more,”  interrupted 
Antonio  ; “ there  is  still  something  else  which  embit- 
ters my  life,  following  me  about  incessantly  every- 
where ; I know  it  will  be  the  utter  ruin  of  me  in  the 
end.  An  unspeakable  longing, — a consuming  aspira- 
tion for  something, — I can  neitheV  say  nor  even  con- 
ceive what  it  is — has  taken  complete  possession  of  my 
heart  and  mind  since  I awoke  to  renewed  life  in  the 
hospital.  Whilst  I was  still  poor  and  wretched,  and 
threw  myself  down  at  night  on  my  hard  couch,  weary 
and  worn  out  by  the  hard  heavy  labour  of  the  day,  a 
dream  used  to  come  to  me,  and,  fanning  my  hot  brow 
with  balmy  rustling  breezes,  shed  about  my  heart  all 
the  inexpressible  bliss  of  some  single  happy  moment, 
in  which  the  Eternal  Power  had  been  pleased  to  grant 
me  in  thought  a glimpse  of  the  delights  of  heaven, 
and  the  memory  of  which  was  treasured  up  in  the  re- 
cesses of  my  soul.  I now  rest  on  soft  cushions,  and  no 
labour  consumes  my  strength  : but  if  I aw^aken  out  of  a 
dream,  or  if  in  my  waking  hours  the  recollection  of 
that  great  moment  returns  to  my  mind,  I feel  that  the 
lonely  wretched  existence  I lead  is  just  as  much  an  op- 
pressive burden  now  as  it  was  then,  and  that  it  is  vain 
for  me  to  try  and  shake  it  off.  All  my  thinking  and 
all  my  inquiries  are  fruitless  ; I cannot  fathom  what 
this  glorious  thing  is  which  formerly  happened  in  my 
life.  Its  mysterious  and  alas  ! to  me,  unintelligible 
echo,  as  it  were,  fills  me  with  such  great  happiness  ,* 
but  will  not  this  happiness  pass  over  into  the  most 


THE  DOGE  AND  DO  GE  SS. 


29 


agonising  pain,  and  torture  me  to  death,  when  I am 
obliged  to  acknowledge  that  all  my  hope  of  ever  find- 
ing that  unknown  Eden  again,  nay,  that  even  the  cour- 
age to  search  for  it,  is  lost  ? Can  there  indeed  remain 
traces  of  that  which  has  vanished  without  leaving  any 
sign  behind  it  ? ” Antonio  ceased  speaking,  and  a 
deep  and  painful  sigh  escaped  his  breast. 

During  his  narrative  the  old  crone  had  behaved  like 
one  who  sympathised  fully  with  his  trouble,  and  felt 
all  that  he  felt,  and  like  a mirror  reflected  every  move- 
ment and  gesture  which  the  pain  wrung  from  him. 
“ Tonino,”  she  now  began  in  a tearful  voice,  “my 
dear  Tonino,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  let  your 
courage  sink  because  the  remembrance  of  some  glori- 
ous moment  in  your  life  has  perished  out  of  your 
mind?  You  foolish  child  ! You  foolish  child  ! Listen 
to — hi  ! hi  ! hi  ! ” The  old  woman  began  to  chuckle 
and  laugh  in  her  usual  disagreeable  way,  and  to  hop 
about  on  the  marble  floor.  Some  people  came  ; she 
cowered  down  in  her  accustomed  posture  ; they  threw 
her  alms.  “ Antonio — lead  me  away,  Antonio — away 
to  the  sea,”  she  croaked.  Almost  involuntarily — he 
could  not  explain  how  it  came  about — he  took  her  by 
the  arm  and  led  her  slowly  across  St.  Mark’s  Square. 
On  the  way  the  old  woman  muttered  softly  and  sol- 
emnly, “Antonio,  do  you  see  these  dark  stains  of 
blood  here  on  the  ground  ? Yes,  blood — much  blood 
— much  blood  everywhere  ! But,  hi  ! hi ! hi  ! Roses 
will  spring  up  out  of  the  blood — beautiful  red  roses 
for  a wreath  for  you — for  your  sweetheart.  O good 
Lord  of  all,  what  lovely  angel  of  light  is  this,  who  is 
coming  to  meet  you  with  such  grace  and  such  a bright 
starry  smile  ? Her  lily-white  arms  are  stretched  out  to 
embrace  you.  O Antonio,  you  lucky,  lucky  lad  ! bear 
yourself  bravely  ! bear  yourself  bravely  ! And  at  the 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


jo 

sweet  hour  of  sunset  you  may  pluck  myrtle-leaves — 
myrtle-leaves  for  the  bride — for  the  maiden-widow — 
hi  ! hi ! hi ! Myrtle-leaves  plucked  at  the  hour  of  sun- 
set, but  these  will  not  be  blossoms  until  midnight! 
Do  you  hear  the  whisperings  of  the  night-winds  ? the 
longing  moaning  swell  of  the  sea  ? Row  away  brave- 
ly, my  bold  oarsman,  row  away  bravely ! ” Antonio’s 
heart  was  deeply  thrilled  with  awe  as  he  listened  to  the 
old  crone’s  wonderful  words,  which  she  mumbled  to 
herself  in  a very  peculiar  and  extraordinary  way,  min- 
gled with  an  incessant  chuckling. 

They  came  to  the  pillar  which  bears  the  Lion  of  the 
Adriatic.  The  old  woman  was  going  on  right  past  it, 
still  muttering  to  herself ; but  Antonio,  feeling  very 
uncomfortable  at  the  old  crone’s  behaviour,  and  being, 
moreover,  stared  at  in  astonishment  by  the  passers-by, 
stopped  and  said  roughly,  “ Here — sit  you  down  on 
these  steps,  old  woman,  and  have  done  with  your 
talk  ; it  will  drive  me  mad.  It  is  a fact  that  you  saw 
my  sequins  in  the  fiery  images  in  the  clouds  ; but,  for 
that  very  reason,  what  do  you  mean  by  prating  about 
angels  of  light  — bride  — maiden-widow  — roses  and 
myrtle-leaves  ? Do  you  want  to  make  a fool  of  me, 
you  fearful  woman,  till  some  insane  attempt  hurries 
me  to  destruction  ? You  shall  have  a new  hood — bread 
— sequins — all  that  you  want,  but  leave  me  alone.” 
And  he  was  about  to  make  off  hastily  ; but  the  old 
woman  caught  him  by  the  mantle,  and  cried  in  a shrill 
piercing  voice,  “ Tonino,  my  Tonino,  do  take  a good 
look  at  me  for  once,  or  else  I must  go  to  the  very'  edge 
of  the  Square  yonder  and  in  despair  throw  myself  over 
into  the  sea.”  In  order  to  avoid  attracting  more  eyes 
upon  him  than  he  was  already  doing,  Antonio  actually 
stood  still.  “Tonino,”  went  on  the  old  woman,  “sit 
down  here  beside  me ; my'  heart  is  bursting,  I must 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


3i 


tell  you — Oh  ! do  sit  down  here  beside  me.”  Antonio 
sat  down  on  the  steps,  but  so  as  to  turn  his  back  upon 
her  ; and  he  took  out  his  account-book,  whose  white 
pages  bore  witness  to  the  zeal  with  which  he  did  busi- 
ness on  the  Rialto. 

The  old  woman  now  whispered  very  low,  “ Tonino, 
when  you  look  upon  my  shrivelled  features,  does  there 
not  dawn  upon  your  mind  the  slightest,  faintest  rec- 
ollection of  having  known  me  formerly  a long,  long 
time  ago  ? ” “I  have  already  told  you,  old  woman,” 
replied  Antonio  in  the  same  low  tones,  and  without 
turning  round,  “ I have  already  told  you,  that  I feel 
drawn  towards  you  in  a way  that  I can’t  explain  to 
myself,  but  I don’t  attribute  it  to  your  ugly  shrivelled 
face.  Nay,  when  I look  at  your  strange  black  glitter- 
ing eyes  and  sharp  nose,  at  your  blue  lips  and  long 
chin,  and  bristly  grey  hair,  and  when  I hear  your 
abominable  chuckling  and  laughing,  and  your  con- 
fused talk,  I rather  turn  away  from  you  with  disgust, 
and  am  even  inclined  to  believe  that  you  possess  some 
execrable  power  for  attracting  me  to  you.”  “ O God  ! 
God  ! God ! ” whined  the  old  dame,  a prey  to  un- 
speakable pain,  “ what  fiendish  spirit  of  darkness  has 
put  such  fearful  thoughts  into  your  head  ? O Tonino, 
my  darling  Tonino,  the  woman  who  took  such  tender 
loving  care  of  you  when  a child,  and  who  saved  your 
life  from  the  most  threatening  danger  on  that  awful 
night — it  was  I.” 

In  the  first  moments  of  startled  surprise  Antonio 
turned  round  as  if  shot  ; but  then  he  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  the  old  woman’s  hideous  face  and  cried  angrily, 
“ So  that  is  the  way  you  think  you  are  going  to  befool 
me,  you  abominable  insane  old  crone  ! The  few  rec- 
ollections which  I have  retained  of  my  childhood  are 
fresh  and  lively.  That  kind  and  pretty  lady  who 


3 2 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


tended  me — Oh  ! I can  see  her  plainly  now  ! She 
had  a full  bright  face  with  some  colour  in  it — eyes 
gently  smiling — beautiful  dark-brown  hair — dainty 
hands  ; she  could  hardly  be  thirty  years  old,  and  you 
— you,  an  old  woman  of  ninety  ! ” “ O all  ye  saints 

of  Heaven  ! ” interrupted  the  old  dame,  sobbing,  “ all 
ye  blessed  ones,  what  shall  I do  to  make  my  Tonino 
believe  in  me,  his  faithful  Margaret  ? ” “ Margaret  ! ” 

murmured  Antonio,  “ Margaret ! That  name  falls 
upon  my  ears  like  music  heard  a long  long  time  ago, 
and  for  a long  long  time  forgotten.  But — no,  it  is 
impossible — impossible.”  Then  the  old  dame  went 

on  more  calmly,  dropping  her  eyes,  and  scribbling  as 
it  were  with  her  staff  on  the  ground,  “You  are  right; 
the  tall  handsome  man  who  used  to  take  you  in  his 
arms  and  kiss  you  and  give  you  sweets  was  your  father, 
Tonino  ; and  the  language  in  which  we  spoke  to  each 
other  was  the  beautiful  sonorous  German.  Your 
father  was  a rich  and  influential  merchant  in  Augs- 
burg. His  young  and  lovely  wife  died  in  giving  birth 
to  you.  Then,  since  he  could  not  settle  down  in  the 
place  where  his  dearest  lay  buried,  he  came  hither  to 
Venice,  and  brought  me,  your  nurse,  with  him  to  take 
care  of  you.  That  terrible  night  an  awful  fate  over- 
took your  father,  and  also  threatened  you.  I succeeded 
in  saving  you.  A noble  Venetian  adopted  you  ; I, 
deprived  of  all  means  of  support,  had  to  remain  in 
Venice. 

“ My  father,  a barber-surgeon,  of  whom  it  was  said 
that  he  practised  forbidden  science  as  well,  had  made 
me  familiar  from  my  earliest  childhood  with  the 
mysterious  virtues  of  Nature’s  remedies.  By  him  I 
was  taught  to  wander  through  the  fields  and  woods, 
learning  the  properties  of  many  healing  herbs,  of 
many  insignificant  mosses,  the  hours  when  they  should 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


33 


be  plucked  and  gathered,  and  how  to  mix  the  juices 
of  the  various  simples.  But  to  this  knowledge  there 
was  added  a very  special  gift,  which  Heaven  has  en- 
dowed me  with  for  some  inscrutable  purpose.  I often 
see  future  events  as  if  in  a dim  and  distant  mirror ; 
and  almost  without  any  conscious  effort  of  will,  I 
declare  in  expressions  which  are  unintelligible  to  my- 
self what  I have  seen  ; for  some  unknown  Power 
compels  me,  and  I cannot  resist  it.  Now  when  I had 
to  stay  behind  in  Venice,  deserted  of  all  the  world,  I 
resolved  to  earn  a livelihood  by  means  of  my  tried 
skill.  In  a brief  time  I cured  the  most  dangerous 
diseases.  And  furthermore,  as  my  presence  alone  had 
a beneficial  effect  upon  my  patients,  and  the  soft 
stroking  of  my  hand  often  brought  them  past  the 
crisis  in  a few  minutes,  my  fame  necessarily  soon 
spread  through  the  town,  and  money  came  pouring  in 
in  streams.  This  awakened  the  jealousy  of  the  physi- 
cians, quacks  who  sold  their  pills  and  essences  in 
St.  Mark’s  Square,  on  the  Rialto,  and  in  the  Mint, 
poisoning  their  patients  instead  of  curing  them.  They 
spread  abroad  that  I was  in  league  with  the  devil 
himself  ; and  they  were  believed  by  the  superstitious 
folk.  I was  soon  arrested  and  brought  before  the 
ecclesiastical  tribunal.  O my  Tonino,  what  horrid 
tortures  did  they  inflict  upon  me  in  order  to  force 
from  me  a confession  of  the  most  damnable  of  all 
alliances  ! I remained  firm.  My  hair  turned  white  ; 
my  body  withered  up  to  a mummy  ; my  feet  and 
hands  were  paralysed.  But  there  was  still  the  terrible 
rack  left — the  cunningest  invention  of  the  foul  fiend, 
— and  it  extorted  from  me  a confession  at  which  I 
shudder  even  now.  I was  to  be  burnt  alive  ; but 
vhen  the  earthquake  shook  the  foundations  of  the 
palaces  and  of  the  great  prison,  the  door  of  the  under- 
VOL.  II.— j 


34 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


ground  dungeon  in  which  I lay  confined  sprang  open 
of  itself,  and  I staggered  up  out  of  my  grave  as  it 
were  through  rubbish  and  ruins.1  0 Tonino,  you 
called  me  an  old  woman  of  ninety  ; I am  hardly  more 
than  fifty.  This  lean,  emaciated  body,  this  hideously 
distorted  face,  this  icicle-like  hair,  these  lame  feet— 
no,  it  was  not  the  lapse  of  years,  it  was  only  unspeak- 
able tortures  which  could  in  a few  months  change  me 
thus  from  a strong  woman  into  the  monstrous  creature 
I now  am.  And  my  hideous  chuckling  and  laughing 
— this  was  forced  from  me  by  the  last  strain  on  the 
rack,  at  the  memory  of  which  my  hair  even  now 
stands  on  an  end,  and  I feel  altogether  as  if  I were 
locked  in  a red-hot  coat  of  mail  ; and  since  that  time 
I have  been  constantly  subject  to  it ; it  attacks  me 
without  my  being  able  to  check  it.  So  don’t  stand 
any  longer  in  awe  of  me,  Tonino.  Oh  ! it  was  indeed 
your  heart  which  told  you  that  as  a little  boy  you  lay 
on  my  bosom.”  “Woman,”  said  Antonio  hoarsely, 
wrapped  up  in  his  own  thoughts,  “ woman,  I feel  as 
if  I must  believe  you.  But  who  was  my  father? 
What  was  he  called  ? What  was  the  awful  fate  which 
overtook  him  on  that  terrible  night  ? Who  was  it 
who  adopted  me  ? And — what  was  that  occurrence  in 
my  life  which  now,  like  some  potent  magical  spell 
from  a strange  and  unknown  world,  exercises  an  irre- 
sistible sway  over  my  soul,  so  that  all  my  thoughts  are 
dissipated  into  a dark  night-like  sea,  so  to  speak  ? 
When  you  tell  me  all  this,  you  mysterious  woman, 
then  I will  believe  you.”  “ Tonino,"  replied  the  old 
crone,  sighing,  “for  your  own  sake  I must  keep  silent ; 


1 It  may  perhaps  be  interesting  to  observe  that  a precisely  similar 
occurrence  forms  the  central  feature  in  H.  v.  Kleist’ s “Erdbeben  in 
Chili  ” (1810),  perhaps  one  of  the  best  of  his  short  stories. 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


35 


but  the  time  when  I may  speak  will  soon  come.  The 
Fontego— the  Fontego — keep  away  from  the  Fontego.” 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  Antonio  angrily,  “ you  need  not  begin 
to  speak  your  dark  sentences  again  to  enchant  me  by 
some  devilish  wile  or  other.  My  heart  is  rent,  you 

must  speak,  or” “Stop,”  interrupted  she,  “no 

threats — am  I not  your  faithful  nurse,  who  tended 

you  ? ” Without  waiting  to  hear  what  the  old 

woman  had  got  further  to  say,  he  picked  himself  up 
and  ran  away  swiftly.  From  a distance  he  shouted  to 
her,  “You  shall  nevertheless  have  a new  hood,  and  as 
many  sequins  besides  as  you  like.” 

It  was  in  truth  a remarkable  spectacle,  to  see  the  old 
Doge  Marino  Falieri  and  his  youthful  wife  : he,  strong 
enough  and  robust  enough  in  very  truth,  but  with  a 
grey  beard,  and  innumerable  wrinkles  in  his  rusty 
brown  face,  with  some  difficulty  bearing  his  head  erect, 
forming  a pathetic  figure  as  he  strode  along;  she,  a 
perfect  picture  of  grace,  with  the  pure  gentleness  of 
an  angel  in  her  divinely  beautiful  face,  an  irresistible 
charm  in  her  longing  glances,  a queenly  dignity  en- 
throned upon  her  open  lily-white  brow,  shadowed  by 
her  dark  locks,  a sweet  smile  upon  her  cheeks  and  lips, 
her  pretty  head  bent  with  winsome  submissiveness, 
her  slender  form  moving  with  ease,  scarce  seeming  to 
touch  the  earth — a beautiful  lady  in  fact,  a native  of 
another  and  a higher  world.  Of  course  you  have  seen 
angelic  forms  like  this,  conceived  and  painted  by  the 
old  masters.  Such  was  Annunciata.  How  then  could 
it  be  otherwise  but  that  every  one  who  saw  her  was 
astonished  and  enraptured  with  her  beauty,  and  all 
the  fiery  youths  of  the  Seignory  were  consumed  with 
passion,  measuring  the  old  Doge  with  mocking  looks, 
and  swearing  in  their  hearts  that  they  would  be  the 


36 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGES S. 


Mars  to  this  Vulcan,  let  the  consequences  be  what  they 
might  ? Annunciata  soon  found  herself  surrounded 
with  admirers,  to  whose  flattering  and  seductive  words 
she  listened  quietly  and  graciously,  without  thinking 
anything  in  particular  about  them.  The  conception 
which  her  pure  angelic  spirit  had  formed  of  her  rela- 
tion to  her  aged  and  princely  husband  was  that  she 
ought  to  honour  him  as  her  supreme  lord,  and  cling  to 
him  with  all  the  unquestioning  fidelity  of  a submissive 
handmaiden.  He  treated  her  kindly,  nay  tenderly  ; he 
pressed  her  to  his  ice-cold  heart  and  called  her  his  dar- 
ling ; he  heaped  up  all  the  jewels  he  could  find  upon 
her ; what  else  could  she  wish  for  from  him,  what  other 
rights  could  she  have  upon  him  ? In  this  way,  there- 
fore, it  was  impossible  for  the  thought  of  unfaithfulness 
to  the  old  man  ever  in  any  way  to  find  lodgment  in  her 
mind  ; all  that  lay  beyond  the  narrow  circle  of  these 
limited  relations  was  to  this  good  child  an  unknown 
region,  whose  forbidden  borders  were  wrapped  in  dark 
mists,  unseen  and  unsuspected  by  her.  Hence  all  efforts 
to  win  her  love  were  fruitless. 

But  the  flames  of  passion — of  love  for  the  beautiful 
Dogess — burned  in  none  so  violently  and  so  uncon- 
trolled as  in  Michele  Steno.  Notwithstanding  his 
youth,  he  was  invested  with  the  important  and  influen- 
tial post  of  Member  of  the  Council  of  Forty.  Relying 
upon  this  fact,  as  well  as  upon  his  personal  beauty,  he 
felt  confident  of  success.  Old  Marino  Falieri  he  did 
not  fear  in  the  least ; and,  indeed,  the  old  man  seemed 
to  indulge  less  frequently  in  his  violent  outbreaks  of 
furious  passion,  and  to  have  laid  aside  his  rugged 
untamable  fierceness,  since  his  marriage.  There  he  sat 
beside  his  beautiful  Annunciata,  spruce  and  prim,  in 
the  richest,  gayest  apparel,  smirking  and  smiling,  chal- 
lenging in  the  sweet  glances  of  his  grey  eyes, — from 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


37 


which  a treacherous  tear  stole  from  time  to  time, — 
those  who  were  present  to  say  if  any  one  of  them  could 
boast  of  such  a wife  as  his.  Instead  of  speaking  in  the 
rough  arrogant  tone  of  voice  in  which  he  had  formerly 
been  in  the  habit  of  expressing  himself,  he  whispered, 
scarce  moving  his  lips,  addressed  every  one  in  the  most 
amiable  manner,  and  granted  the  most  absurd  petitions. 
Who  would  have  recognised  in  this  weak  amorous  old 
man  the  same  Falieri  who  had  in  a fit  of  passion  buf- 
feted the  bishop* 1  on  Corpus  Christi  Day  at  Treviso, 
and  who  had  defeated  the  valiant  Morbassan.  This 
growing  weakness  spurred  on  Michele  Steno  to  attempt 
the  most  extravagant  schemes.  Annunciata  did  not 
understand  why  he  was  constantly  pursuing  her  with 
his  looks  and  words ; she  had  no  conception  of  his  real 
purpose,  but  always  preserved  the  same  gentle,  calm, 
and  friendly  bearing  towards  him.  It  was  just  this 
quiet  unconscious  behaviour,  however,  which  drove 
him  wild,  which  drove  him  to  despair  almost.  He 
determined  to  effect  his  end  by  sinister  means.  He 
managed  to  involve  Annunciata’s  most  confidential 
maid  in  a love  intrigue,  and  she  at  last  permitted  him 
to  visit  her  at  night.  Thus  he  believed  he  had  paved 
a way  to  Annunciata’s  unpolluted  chamber  ; but  the 
Eternal  Power  willed  that  this  treacherous  iniquity 
should  recoil  upon  the  head  of  its  wicked  author. 

One  night  it  chanced  that  the  Doge,  who  had  just 
received  the  ill  tidings  of  the  battle  which  Nicolo 
Pisani  had  lost  against  Doria  off  Porto  Longo,2  was 
unable  to  sleep  owing  to  care  and  anxiety,  and  was 
rambling  through  the  passages  of  the  Ducal  Palace. 
Then  he  became  aware  of  a shadow  stealing  apparently 

1 Narrated  in  the  translation  of  the  Chronicle  of  Sanuto  by  Sir 
Francis  Palgrave  in  Byron’s  notes  to  “Marino  Faliero.” 

1 On  the  island  of  Sapenzia,  south-west  of  the  Morea. 


38 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


out  of  Annunciata’s  apartments  and  creeping  towards 
the  stairs.  He  at  once  rushed  towards  it ; it  was 
Michele  Steno  leaving  his  mistress.  A terrible  thought 
flashed  across  Falieri’s  mind;  with  the  cry  “Annun- 
ciata  ! ” he  threw  himself  upon  Steno  with  his  drawn 
dagger  in  his  hand.  But  Steno,  who  was  stronger  and 
more  agile  than  the  old  man,  averted  the  thrust,  and 
knocked  him  down  with  a violent  blow  of  his  fist ; then, 
laughing  loudly  and  shouting,  “Annunciata!  Annun- 
ciata  ! ” he  rushed  downstairs.  The  old  man  picked 
himself  up  and  stole  towards  Annunciata’s  apartments, 
his  heart  on  fire  with  the  torments  of  hell.  All  was 
quiet,  as  still  as  the  grave.  He  knocked  ; a strange 
maid  opened  the  door — not  the  one  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  sleeping  near  Annunciata’s  chamber.  “What 
does  my  princely  husband  command  at  this  late  and 
unusual  hour?”  asked  Annunciata  in  a calm  and 
sweetly  gentle  tone,  for  she  had  meanwhile  thrown  on 
a light  night-robe  and  was  now  come  forward.  Old 
Falieri  stared  at  her  speechless  ; then,  raising  both 
hands  above  his  head,  he  cried,  “No,  it  is  not  possible, 
it  is  not  possible.”  “What  is  not  possible,  my  princely 
sir  ? ” asked  Annunciata,  startled  at  the  deep  solemn 
tones  of  the  old  man’s  voice.  But  Falieri,  without  an- 
swering her  question,  turned  to  the  maid,  “ Why  are 
you  sleeping  here  ? why  does  not  Luigia  sleep  here  as 
usual  ? ” “ Oh  ! ” replied  the  little  one,  “ Luigia  would 

make  me  exchange  places  with  her  to-night  ; she  is 
sleeping  in  the  ante-room  close  by  the  stairs.”  “ Close 
by  the  stairs!”  echoed  Falieri,  delighted  ; and  he  hur- 
ried away  to  the  ante-room.  At  his  loud  knocking 
Luigia  opened  the  door  ; and  when  she  saw  the  Doge, 
her  master’s  face  inflamed  with  rage,  and  his  flashing 
eyes,  she  threw  herself  upon  her  bare  knees  and  con- 
fessed her  shame,  which  was  set  beyond  all  doubt  by  a 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


39 


pair  of  elegant  gentleman’s  gloves  lying  on  the  easy- 
chair,  whilst  the  sweet  scent  about  them  betrayed  their 
dandified  owner.  Hotly  incensed  at  Steno’s  unheard- 
of  impudence,  the  Doge  wrote  to  him  next  morning, 
forbidding  him,  on  pain  of  banishment  from  the  town, 
to  approach  the  Ducal  Palace,  or  the  presence  of  the 
Doge  and  Dogess. 

Michele  Steno  was  wild  with  fury  at  the  failure  of 
his  well-planned  scheme,  and  at  the  disgrace  of  being 
thus  banished  from  the  presence  of  his  idol.  Now 
when  he  had  to  see  from  a distance  how  gently  and 
kindly  the  Dogess  spoke  to  other  young  men  of  the 
Seignory — -that  was  indeed  her  natural  manner — his 
envy  and  the  violence  of  his  passion  filled  his  mind 
with  evil  thoughts.  The  Dogess  had  without  doubt 
only  scorned  him  because  he  had  been  anticipated  by 
others  with  better  luck  ; and  he  had  the  hardihood  to 
utter  his  thoughts  openly  and  publicly.  Now  whether 
it  was  that  old  Falieri  had  tidings  of  this  shameless 
talk,  or  whether  he  came  to  look  upon  the  occurrence 
of  that  memorable  night  as  the  warning  finger  of 
destiny,  or  whether  now,  in  spite  of  all  his  calmness 
and  equanimity,  and  his  perfect  confidence  in  the 
fidelity  of  his  wife,  he  saw  clearly  the  danger  of  the 
unnatural  position  in  which  he  stood  in  respect  to  her 
—at  any  rate  he  became  ill-tempered  and  morose. 
He  was  plagued  and  tortured  by  all  the  fiends  of 
jealousy,  and  confined  Annunciata  to  the  inner  apart- 
ments of  the  Ducal  Palace,  so  that  no  man  ever  set 
eyes  upon  her.  Bodoeri  took  his  niece’s  part,  and 
soundly  rated  old  Falieri  ; but  he  would  not  hear  of 
any  change  in  his  conduct. 

All  this  took  place  shortly  before  Holy  Thursday. 
On  the  occasion  of  the  popular  sports  which  take 
place  on  this  day  in  St.  Mark’s  Square,  it  was  custom- 


40 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


ary  for  the  Dogess  to  take  her  seat  beside  the  Doge, 
under  a canopy  erected  on  the  balcony  which  lies  op- 
posite to  the  Piazetti.  Bodoeri  reminded  the  Doge  of 
this  custom,  and  told  him  that  it  would  be  very  ab- 
surd, and  sure  to  draw  down  upon  him  the  mocking 
laughter  of  both  populace  and  Seignory,  if,  in  the  teeth 
of  custom  and  usage,  he  let  his  perverse  jealousy  ex- 
clude Annunciata  from  this  honour.  “ Do  you  think,” 
replied  old  Falieri,  whose  pride  was  immediately 
aroused,  “ do  you  think  I am  such  an  idiotic  old  fool 
that  I am  afraid  to  show  my  most  precious  jewel  for 
fear  of  thievish  hands,  and  that  I could  not  prevent  her 
being  stolen  from  me  with  my  good  sword  ? No,  old 
man,  you  are  mistaken  ; to-morrow  Annunciata  shall 
go  with  me  in  solemn  procession  across  St.  Mark’s 
Square,  that  the  people  may  see  their  Dogess,  and  on 
Holy  Thursday  she  shall  receive  the  nosegay  from  the 
bold  sailor  who  comes  sailing  down  out  of  the  air  to 
her.”  The  Doge  was  thinking  of  a very  ancient  cus- 
tom as  he  said  these  words.  On  Holy  Thursday  a bold 
fellow  from  amongst  the  people  is  drawn  up  from  the 
sea  to  the  summit  of  the  tower  of  St.  Mark’s,  in  a 
machine  that  resembles  a little  ship  and  is  suspended 
on  ropes,  then  he  shoots  from  the  top  of  the  tower  with 
the  speed  of  an  arrow  down  to  the  Square  where  the 
Doge  and  Dogess  are  sitting,  and  presents  a nosegay  of 
flowers  to  the  Dogess,  or  to  the  Doge  if  he  is  alone. 

The  next  day  the  Doge  carried  out  his  intention. 
Annunciata  had  to  don  her  most  magnificent  robes  ; 
and  surrounded  by  the  Seignory  and  attended  by  pages 
and  guards,  she  and  Falieri  crossed  the  Square  when  it 
was  swarming  with  people.  They  pushed  and  squeezed 
themselves  to  death  almost  to  see  the  beautiful  Dogess  ; 
and  he  who  succeeded  in  setting  eyes  upon  her  thought 
he  had  taken  a peep  into  Paradise  and  had  beheld  the 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


4i 


loveliest  of  the  bright  and  beautiful  angels.  But  ac- 
cording to  Venetian  habits,  in  the  midst  of  the  wildest 
outbreaks  of  their  frantic  admiration,  here  and  there 
were  heard  all  sorts  of  satiric  phrases  and  rhymes — and 
coarse  enough  too — aimed  at  old  Falieri  and  his  young 
wife.  Falieri,  however,  appeared  not  to  notice  them, 
but  strode  along  as  pathetically  as  possible  at  Annun- 
ciata’s  side,  smirking  and  smiling  all  over  his  face,  and 
free  on  this  occasion  from  all  jealousy,  although  he 
must  have  seen  the  glances  full  of  burning  passion 
which  were  directed  upon  his  beautiful  lady  from  all 
sides.  Arrived  before  the  principal  entrance  to  the 
Palace,  the  guards  had  some  difficulty  in  driving  back 
the  crowd,  so  that  the  Doge  and  Dogess  might  go  in  ; 
but  here  and  there  were  still  standing  isolated  knots  of 
better-dressed  citizens,  who  could  not  very  well  be  re- 
fused entrance  into  even  the  inner  quadrangle  of  the 
Palace.  Now  it  happened  just  at  the  moment  that  the 
Dogess  entered  the  quadrangle,  that  a young  man,  who 
with  a few  others  stood,  under  the  portico,  fell  down 
suddenly  upon  the  hard  marble  floor,  as  if  dead,  with 
the  loud  scream,  “ O good  God  ! good  God  ! ” The 
people  ran  together  from  every  side  and  surrounded 
the  dead  man,  so  that  the  Dogess  could  not  see  him  ; 
yet,  as  the  young  man  fell,  she  felt  as  if  a red-hot  knife 
were  suddenly  thrust  into  her  heart  ; she  grew  pale  ; 
she  reeled,  and  was  only  prevented  from  fainting  by 
the  smelling-bottles  of  the  ladies  who  hastened  to  her 
assistance.  Old  Falieri,  greatly  alarmed  and  put  out 
by  the  accident,  wished  the  young  man  and  his  fit  any- 
where ; and  he  carried  his  Annunciata,  who  hung  her 
pretty  head  on  her  bosom  and  closed  her  eyes  like  a 
sick  dove,  himself  up  the  steps  into  her  own  apartments 
in  the  interior  of  the  Palace,  although  it  was  very  hard 
work  for  him  to  do  so. 


42 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


Meanwhile  the  people,  who  had  increased  to  crowds 
in  the  inner  quadrangle,  had  been  spectators  of  a re- 
markable scene.  They  were  about  to  lift  up  the  young 
man,  whom  they  took  to  be  quite  dead,  and  carry  him 
away,  when  an  ugly  old  beggar-woman,  all  in  rags, 
came  limping  up  with  a loud  wail  of  grief  ; and  punch- 
ing their  sides  and  ribs  with  her  sharp  elbows  she  made 
a way  for  herself  through  the  thick  of  the  crowd. 
When  she  at  length  saw  the  senseless  youth,  she  cried, 
“Let  him  be,  fools  ; you  stupid  people,  let  him  be;  he 
is  not  dead.”  Then  she  squatted  down  beside  him; 
and  taking  his  head  in  her  lap  she  gently  rubbed  and 
stroked  his  forehead,  calling  him  by  the  sweetest  of 
names.  As  the  people  noted  the  old  woman’s  ugly 
apish  face,  and  the  repulsive  play  of  its  muscles,  bend- 
ing over  the  young  fellow’s  fine  handsome  face,  his 
soft  features  now  stiff  and  pale  as  in  death,  when  they 
saw  her  filthy  rags  fluttering  about  over  the  rich  cloth- 
ing the  young  man  wore,  and  her  lean  browmish-yellow 
arms  and  long  hands  trembling  upon  his  forehead  and 
exposed  breast — they  could  not  in  truth  resist  shudder- 
ing with  awe.  It  looked  as  if  it  were  the  grinning  form 
of  death  himself  in  whose  arms  the  young  man  lay. 
Hence  the  crowd  standing  round  slipped  away  quietly 
one  after  the  other,  till  there  were  only  a few  left. 
They,  when  the  young  man  opened  his  eyes  with  a deep 
sigh,  took  him  up  and  carried  him,  at  the  old  woman’s 
request,  to  the  Grand  Canal,  where  a gondola  took 
them  both  on  board,  the  old  woman  and  the  youth, 
and  brought  them  to  the  house  which  she  had  indicated 
as  his  dwelling.  Need  it  be  said  that  the  young  man 
was  Antonio,  and  that  the  old  woman  was  the  beggar 
of  the  steps  of  the  Franciscan  Church,  who  wanted  to 
make  herself  out  to  be  his  nurse  ? 

When  Antonio  was  quite  recovered  from  his  stupe- 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


43 


faction  and  perceived  the  old  woman  at  his  bed-side, 
and  knew  that  she  had  just  been  giving  him  some 
strengthening  drops,  he  said  brokenly  in  a hoarse  voice, 
bending  a long  gloomy  melancholy  gaze  upon  her, 
“ You  with  me,  Margaret — that  is  good  ; what  more 
faithful  nurse  could  I have  found  than  you  ? Oh  ! for- 
give me,  mother,  that  I,  a doltish,  senseless  boy,  doubted 
for  an  instant  what  you  discovered  to  me.  Yes,  you 
are  the  Margaret  who  reared  me,  who  cared  for  me  and 
tended  me  ; I knew  it  all  the  time,  but  some  evil  spirit 
bewildered  my  thoughts.  I have  seen  her  ; it  is  she — 
it  is  she.  Did  I not  tell  you  there  was  some  mysterious 
magical  power  dwelling  in  me,  which  exercised  an  un- 
controllable supremacy  over  me  ? It  has  emerged  from 
its  obscurity  dazzling  with  light,  to  effect  my  destruc- 
tion through  nameless  joy.  I now  know  all — every- 
thing. Was  not  my  foster-father  Bertuccio  Nenolo, 
and  did  he  not  bring  me  up  at  his  country-seat  near 
Treviso  ? ” “ Yes,  yes,”  replied  the  old  woman,  “ it  was 
indeed  Bertuccio  Nenolo,  the  great  sea-captain,  whom 
the  sea  devoured  as  he  was  about  to  adorn  his  temples 
with  the  victor’s  wreath.”  “Don’t  interrupt  me,”  con- 
tinued Antonio  ; “ listen  patiently  to  what  I have  to  say. 

“ With  Bertuccio  Nenolo  I lived  in  clover.  I wore 
fine  clothes  ; the  table  was  always  covered  when  I was 
hungry  ; and  after  I had  said  my  three  prayers  properly 
I was  allowed  to  run  about  the  woods  and  fields  just  as 
I pleased.  Close  beside  the  villa  there  was  a little 
wood  of  sweet  pines,  cool  and  dark,  and  filled  with 
sweet  scents  and  songs.  There  one  evening,  when  the 
sun  began  to  sink,  I threw  me  down  beneath  a big 
tree,  tired  with  running  and  jumping  about,  and  stared 
up  at  the  blue  sky.  Perhaps  I was  stupefied  by  the 
fragrant  smell  of  the  flowering  herbs  in  the  midst  of 
which  I lay  ; at  any  rate,  my  eyes  closed  involuntarily, 


44 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


and  I sank  into  a state  of  dreamy  reverie,  from  which  I 
was  awakened  by  a rustling,  as  if  some  one  had  struck 
a blow  in  the  grass  beside  me.  I started  up  into  a sit- 
ting posture  ; an  angelic  child  with  heavenly  eyes  stood 
near  me  and  looked  down  upon  me,  smiling  most 
sweetly  and  bewitchingly.  ‘ O good  boy,’  she  said,  in 
a low  soft  voice,  ‘ how  beautiful  and  calmly  you  sleep, 
and  yet  death,  nasty  death,  was  so  near  to  you.’  Close 
beside  my  breast  I saw  a small  black  snake  with  its 
head  crushed  ; the  little  girl  had  killed  the  poisonous 
reptile  with  a switch  from  a nut-tree,  and  just  as  it  was 
wriggling  on  to  my  destruction.  Then  a trembling  of 
sweet  awe  fell  upon  me  ; I knew  that  angels  often  came 
down  from  heaven  above  to  rescue  men  in  person  from 
the  threatening  attack  of  some  evil  enemy.  I fell  upon 
my  knees  and  raised  my  folded  hands.  ‘ Oh  ! )rou  are 
surely  an  angel  of  light,  sent  by  God  to  save  my  life,’  I 
cried.  The  pretty  creature  stretched  out  both  arms 
towards  me  and  said  softly,  whilst  a deeper  flush 
mantled  upon  her  cheeks,  ‘ No,  good  boy  ; I am  not  an 
angel,  but  a girl — a child  like  you.’  Then  my  feeling 
of  awe  gave  place  to  a nameless  delight,  which  spread 
like  a gentle  warmth  through  all  my  limbs.  I rose  to 
my  feet  ; we  clasped  each  other  in  our  arms,  our  lips 
met,  and  we  were  speechless,  weeping,  sobbing  with 
sweet  unutterable  sadness. 

“ Then  a clear  silvery  voice  cried  through  the  wood, 
‘Annunciata!  Annunciata!’  ‘I  must  go  now,  darling 
boy,  mother  is  calling  me,’  whispered  the  little  girl. 
My  heart  was  rent  with  unspeakable  pain.  ‘ Oh  ! I love 
you  so  much,’  I sobbed,  and  the  scalding  tears  fell  from 
the  littlp  girl’s  eyes  upon  my  cheeks.  ‘ I am  so — so  fond 
of  you,  good  boy,’  she  cried,  pressing  a last  kiss  upon 
my  lips.  ‘Annunciata,’  the  voice  cried  again  ; and  the 
little  girl  disappeared  behind  the  bushes.  Now  that, 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


45 


Margaret,  was  the  moment  when  the  mighty  spark  of 
love  fell  upon  my  soul,  and  it  will  gather  strength,  and, 
enkindling  flame  after  flame,  will  continue  to  burn  there 
for  ever.  A few  days  afterwards  I was  turned  out  of 
the  house. 

“ Father  Bluenose  told  me,  since  I did  not  cease 
talking  about  the  lovely  child  who  had  appeared  to 
me,  and  whose  sweet  voice  I thought  I heard  in  the 
rustling  of  the  trees,  in  the  gushing  murmurs  of  the 
springs,  and  in  the  mysterious  soughing  of  the  sea — 
yes,  then  Father  Bluenose  told  me  that  the  girl  could 
be  none  other  than  Nenolo’s  daughter  Annunciata, 
who  had  come  to  the  villa  with  her  mother  Frances- 
ca, but  had  left  it  again  on  the  following  day.  O 
mother — Margaret — help  me,  Heaven  ! This  Annun- 
ciata— is  the  Dogess.”  And  Antonio  buried  his  face 
in  the  pillows,  weeping  and  sobbing  with  unspeakable 
emotion. 

“ My  dear  Tonino,”  said  the  old  woman,  “ rouse 
yourself  and  be  a man  ; come,  do  resist  bravely  this 
foolish  emotion.  Come,  come,  how  can  you  think  of 
despairing  when  you  are  in  love  ? For  whom  does  the 
golden  flower  of  hope  blossom  if  not  for  the  lover  ? 
You  do  not  know  in  the  evening  what  the  morning 
may  bring ; what  you  have  beheld  in  your  dreams 
comes  to  meet  you  in  living  form.  The  castle  that 
hovered  in  the  air  stands  all  at  once  on  the  earth,  a 
substantial  and  splendid  building.  See  here,  Tonino, 
you  are  not  paying  the  least  heed  to  my  words  ; but 
my  little  finger  tells  me,  and  so  does  somebody  else  as 
well,  that  the  bright  standard  of  love  is  gaily  waving 
for  you  out  at  sea.  Patience,  Tonino — patience,  my 
boy  ! ” Thus  the  old  woman  sought  to  comfort  poor 
Antonio  ; and  her  words  did  really  sound  like  sweet 
music.  He  would  not  let  her  leave  him  again.  The 


46 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


beggar-woman  had  disappeared  from  the  steps  of  the 
Franciscan  Church,  and  in  her  stead  people  saw  Signor 
Antonio’s  housekeeper,  dressed  in  becoming  matronly 
style,  limping  about  St.  Mark’s  Square  and  buying  the 
requisite  provisions  for  his  table. 

Holy  Thursday  was  come.  It  was  to  be  celebrated 
on  this  occasion  in  more  magnificent  fashion  than  it 
had  ever  been  before.  In  the  middle  of  the  Piazzetta 
of  St  Mark’s  a high  staging  was  erected  for  a special 
kind  of  artistic  fire — something  perfectly  new,  which 
was  to  be  exhibited  by  a Greek — a man  experienced 
in  such  matters.  In  the  evening  old  Falieri  came  out 
on  the  balcony  along  with  his  beautiful  lady,  reflecting 
his  pride  and  happiness  in  the  magnificence  of  his  sur- 
roundings, and  with  radiant  eyes  challenging  all  who 
stood  near  to  admire  and  wonder.  As  he  was  about 
to  take  his  seat  on  the  chair  of  state  he  perceived 
Michele  Steno  actually  on  the  same  balcony  with  him, 
and  saw  that  he  had  chosen  a position  whence  he 
could  keep  his  eyes  constantly  fixed  upon  the  Dogess, 
and  must  of  necessity  be  observed  by  her.  Completely 
overmastered  by  furious  rage,  and  wild  with  jealousy, 
Falieri  shouted  in  a loud  and  commanding  tone  that 
Steno  was  to  be  at  once  removed  from  the  balconyr. 
Michele  Steno  raised  his  hand  against  Falieri,  but  that 
same  moment  the  guards  appeared,  and  compelled  him 
to  quit  his  place,  which  he  did,  foaming  with  rage  and 
grinding  his  teeth,  and  threatening  revenge  in  the  most 
horrible  imprecations. 

Meanwhile  Antonio,  utterly  beside  himself  at  sight 
of  his  beloved  Annunciata,  had  made  his  way  out 
through  the  crowd,  and  was  striding  backwards  and 
forwards  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  alone  along  the 
edge  of  the  sea,  his  heart  rent  by  unutterable  anguish. 
He  debated  within  himself  whether  it  would  not  be 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


47 


better  to  extinguish  the  consuming  fire  within  him  in 
the  ice-cold  waves  than  to  be  slowly  tortured  to  death 
by  hopeless  pain.  But  little  was  wanting,  and  he  had 
leapt  into  the  sea;  he  was  already  standing  on  the  last 
step  that  goes  down  to  the  water,  when  a voice  called 
to  him  from  a little  boat,  “Ay,  a very  good  evening  to 
you,  Signor  Antonio.”  By  the  reflection  cast  by  the 
illuminations  of  the  Square,  he  recognised  that  it  was 
merry  Pietro,  one  of  his  former  comrades.  He  was 
standing  in  the  boat,  his  new  cap  adorned  with  feathers 
and  tinsel,  and  his  new  striped  jacket  gaily  decrfrated 
with  ribbons,  whilst  he  held  in  his  hand  a large  and 
beautiful  nosegay  of  sweet-scented  flowers.  “ Good 
evening,  Pietro,”  shouted  Antonio  back,  “what  grand 
folks  are  you  going  to  row  to-night  that  you  are  decked 
off  so  fine?”  “Oh!”  replied  Pietro,  dancing  till  his 
boat  rocked  ; “see  you,  Signor  Antonio,  I am  going  to 
earn  my  three  sequins  to-day  ; for  Pm  going  to  make 
the  journey  up  to  St.  Mark’s  Tower  and  then  down 
again,  to  take  this  nosegay  to  the  beautiful  Dogess.” 
“But  isn’t  that  a risky  and  break-neck  adventure, 
Pietro,  my  friend?”  asked  Antonio.  “Well,”  he  re- 
plied, “there  is  some  little  chance  of  breaking  one’s 
neck,  especially  as  we  go  to-day  right  through  the 
middle  of  the  artificial  fire.  The  Greek  says,  to  be 
sure,  that  he  has  arranged  everything  so  that  the  fire 

will  not  hurt  a hair  of  anybody’s  head,  but” 

Pietro  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Antonio  stepped  down  to  Pietro  in  the  boat,  and 
now  perceived  that  he  stood  close  in  front  of  the  ma- 
chine, which  was  fastened  to  a rope  coming  out  of  the 
sea.  Other  ropes,  by  means  of  which  the  machine  was 
to  be  drawn  up,  were  lost  in  the  night.  “ Now  listen, 
Pietro,”  began  Antonio,  after  a silent  pause,  “see  here, 
comrade,  if  you  could  earn  ten  sequins  to-day  without 


48 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


exposing  your  life  to  danger,  would  it  not  be  more 
agreeable  to  you?”  “Why,  of  course,”  and  Pietro 
burst  into  a good  hearty  laugh.  “Well  then,”  con- 
tinued Antonio,  “ take  these  ten  sequins  and  change 
clothes  with  me,  and  let  me  take  your  place,  I will  go 
up  instead  of  you.  Do,  my  good  friend  and  comrade, 
Pietro,  let  me  go  up.”  Pietro  shook  his  head  dubiously, 
and  weighing  the  money  in  his  hand,  said,  “You  are 
very  kind,  Signor  Antonio,  to  still  call  a poor  devil  like 
me  your  comrade,  and  you  are  generous  as  well.  The 
money  I should  certainly  like  very  much  ; but,  on  the 
other  hand,  to  place  this  nosegay  in  our  beautiful 
Dogess's  hand  myself,  to  hear  her  sweet  voice — and 
after  all  that’s  really  why  I am  ready  to  risk  my  life. 
Well,  since  it  is  you,  Signor  Antonio,  I close  with  your 
offer.”  They  both  hastily  changed  their  clothes  ; and 
hardly  was  Antonio  dressed  when  Pietro  cried,  “ Quick, 
into  the  machine  ; the  signal  is  given.”  At  the  same 
moment  the  sea  was  lit  up  with  the  reflection  of  thou- 
sands of  bright  flashes,  and  all  the  air  along  the  margin 
of  the  sea  rang  with  loud  reverberating  thunders. 
Right  through  the  midst  of  the  hissing  crackling  flames 
of  the  artificial  fire,  Antonio  rose  up  into  the  air  with 
the  speed  of  a hurricane,  and  shot  down  uninjured 
upon  the  balcony,  hovering  in  front  of  the  Dogess. 
She  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  stepped  forward  ; he  felt 
her  breath  on  his  cheeks;  he  gave  her  the  nosegay. 
But  in  the  unspeakable  delirious  delight  of  the  moment 
he  was  clasped  as  if  in  red-hot  arms  by  the  fiery  pain 
of  hopeless  love.  Senseless,  insane  with  longing,  rapt- 
ure, anguish,  he  grasped  her  hand,  and  covered  it  with 
burning  kisses,  crying  in  the  sharp  tone  of  despairing 
misery,  “ O Annunciata ! ” Then  the  machine,  like  a 
blind  instrument  of  fate,  whisked  him  away  from  his 
beloved  back  to  the  sea,  where  he  sank  down  stunned. 


THE  DüGE  AND  DOGESS. 


49 


quite  exhausted,  into  Pietro’s  arms,  who  was  waiting 
for  him  in  the  boat. 

Meanwhile  the  Doge’s  balcony  was  the  scene  of  tumult 
and  confusion.  A small  strip  of  paper  had  been  found 
fastened  to  the  Doge’s  seat,  containing  in  the  common 
Venetian  dialect  the  words  : 

II  Dose  Falier  della  bella  muier, 

I altri  la  gode  e lui  la  mantien. 

(The  Doge  Falieri,  the  husband  of  the  beautiful  lady  ; 
others  kiss  her,  and  he — he  keeps  her.) 

Old  Falieri  burst  into  a violent  fit  of  passion,  and 
swore  that  the  severest  punishment  should  overtake 
the  man  who  had  been  guilty  of  this  audacious  offence. 
As  he  cast  his  eyes  about  they  fell  upon  Michele  Steno 
standing  beneath  the  balcony  in  the  Square,  in  the  full 
light  of  the  torches  ; he  at  once  commanded  his  guards 
to  arrest  him  as  the  instigator  of  the  outrage.  This 
command  of  the  Doge’s  provoked  a universal  cry  of 
dissent  ; in  giving  way  to  his  overmastering  rage  he 
was  offering  insult  to  both  Seignory  and  populace,  vio- 
lating the  rights  of  the  former,  and  spoiling  the  latter’s 
enjoyment  of  their  holiday.  The  members  of  the 
Seignory  left  their  places  ; but  old  Marino  Bodoeri 
mixed  among  the  people,  actively  representing  the 
grave  nature  of  the  outrage  that  had  been  done  to  the 
head  of  the  state,  and  seeking  to  direct  the  popular 
hatred  upon  Michele  Steno.  Nor  had  Falieri  judged 
wrongly  ; for  Michele  Steno,  on  being  expelled  from 
the  Duke’s  balcony,  had  really  hurried  off  home,  and 
there  written  the  above-mentioned  slanderous  words  ; 
then  when  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  artificial  fire, 
he  had  fastened  the  strip  of  paper  to  the  Doge’s  seat, 
and  withdrawn  from  the  gallery  again  unobserved.  He 
maliciously  hoped  it  would  be  a galling  blow  for  them, 

Vol.  II. — 4 


5° 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


for  both  the  Doge  and  the  Dogess,  and  that  the  wound 
would  rankle  deeply — so  deeply  as  to  touch  a vital 
part.  Willingly  and  openly  he  admitted  the  deed,  and 
transferred  all  blame  to  the  Doge,  since  he  had  been 
the  first  to  give  umbrage  to  him. 

The  Seignory  had  been  for  some  time  dissatisfied 
with  their  chief,  for  instead  of  meeting  the  just  expec- 
tations of  the  state,  he  gave  proofs  daily  that  the  fiery 
warlike  courage  in  his  frozen  and  worn-out  heart  was 
merely  like  the  artificial  fire  which  bursts  with  a furious 
rush  out  of  the  rocket-apparatus,  but  immediately  dis- 
appears in  black  lifeless  flakes,  and  has  accomplished 
nothing.  Moreover,  since  his  union  with  his  young 
and  beautiful  wife  (it  had  long  before  leaked  out  that 
he  was  married  to  her  directly  after  attaining  to  the 
Dogate)  old  Falieri’s  jealousy  no  longer  let  him  appear 
in  the  character  of  heroic  captain,  but  rather  of  vechio 
Pantalone  (old  fool)  ; hence  it  was  that  the  Seignory, 
nursing  their  swelling  resentment,  were  more  inclined  to 
condone  Michele  Steno’s  fault,  than  to  see  justice  done 
to  their  deeply-wounded  chief.  The  matter  was  re- 
ferred by  the  Council  of  Ten  to  the  Forty,  one  of  the 
leaders  of  which  Michele  had  formerly  been.  The  ver- 
dict was  that  Michele  Steno  had  already  suffered  suffi- 
ciently, and  a month’s  banishment  was  quite  punish- 
ment enough  for  the  offence.  This  sentence  only 
served  to  feed  anew  and  more  fully  old  Falieri’s  bitter- 
ness against  a Seignory  which,  instead  of  protecting 
their  own  head,  had  the  impudence  to  punish  insults 
that  were  offered  to  him  as  they  would  offences  of 
merely  the  most  insignificant  description. 

As  generally  happens  in  the  case  of  lovers,  once  a 
single  ray  of  the  happiness  of  love  has  fallen  upon 
them,  they  are  surrounded  for  days  and  weeks  and 
months  by  a sort  of  golden  veil,  and  dream  dreams  of 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


5i 


Paradise  ; and  so  Antonio  could  not  recover  himself 
from  the  stupefying  rapture  of  that  happy  moment  ; 
he  could  hardly  breathe  for  delirious  sadness.  He  had 
been  well  scolded  by  the  old  woman  for  running  such 
a great  risk  ; and  she  never  ceased  mumbling  and 
grumbling  about  exposure  to  unneccessary  danger. 

But  one  day  she  came  hopping  and  dancing  with 
her  staff  in  the  strange  way  she  had  when  apparently 
affected  by  some  foreign  magical  influence.  Without 
heeding  Antonio’s  words  and  questions,  she  began  to 
chuckle  and  laugh,  and  kindling  a small  fire  in  the 
stove,  she  put  a little  pan  on  it,  into  which  she  poured 
several  ingredients  from  many  various-coloured  phials, 
and  made  a salve,  which  she  put  into  a little  box  ; then 
she  limped  out  of  the  house  again,  chuckling  and 
laughing.  She  did  not  return  until  late  at  night,  when 
she  sat  down  in  the  easy-chair,  panting  and  coughing 
for  breath  ; and  after  she  had  in  a measure  recovered 
from  her  great  exhaustion,  she  at  length  began, 
“ Tonino,  my  boy  Tonino,  whom  do  you  think  I have 
come  from  ? See — -try  if  you  can  guess.  Whom  do  I 
come  from  ? where  have  I been  ? ” Antonio  looked 
at  her,  and  a singular  instinctive  feeling  took  posses- 
sion of  him.  “ Well  now,”  chuckled  the  old  woman, 
“ I have  come  from  her — her  herself,  from  the  pretty 
dove,  lovely  Annunciata.”  “ Don’t  drive  me  mad,  old 
fvoman  ! ” shouted  Antonio.  “ What  do  you  say  ? ” 
continued  she,  “ I am  always  thinking  about  you,  my 
Tonino. 

“This  morning,  whilst  I was  haggling  for  some  fine 
fruit  under  the  peristyle  of  the  Palace,  I heard  the 
people  talking  with  bated  breath  of  the  accident  that 
had  befallen  the  beautiful  Dogess.  I inquired  again 
and  again  of  several  people,  and  at  last  a big,  unculti- 
vated, red  haired  fellow,  who  stood  leaning  against  a 


52 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


column,  yawning  and  chawing  lemons,  said  to  me, 

‘ Oh  well,  a young  scorpion  has  been  trying  its  little 
teeth  on  the  little  finger  of  her  left  hand,  and  there’s 
been  a drop  or  two  of  blood  shed — that’s  all.  My 
master,  Signor  Doctor  Giovanni  Basseggio,  is  now  in 
the  palace,  and  he  has,  no  doubt,  before  this  cut  off 
her  pretty  hand,  and  the  finger  with  it.’  Just  as  the 
fellow  was  telling  me  this  there  arose  a great  noise  on 
the  broad  steps,  and  a little  man — such  a tiny  little 
man — came  rolling  down  at  our  feet,  screaming  and 
lamenting,  for  the  guards  had  kicked  him  down  as  if 
he  had  been  a ninepin.  The  people  gathered  round 
him,  laughing  heartily  ; the  little  man  struggled  and 
fought  with  his  legs  in  the  air  without  being  able  to 
get  up  ; but  the  red-haired  fellow  rushed  forward, 
snatched  up  the  little  doctor,  tucked  him  under  his 
arm,  and  ran  off  with  him  as  fast  as  his  legs  could 
carry  him  to  the  Canal,  where  he  got  into  a gondola 
with  him  and  rowed  away — the  little  doctor  screaming 
and  yelling  with  all  his  might  the  whole  time.  I knew 
how  it  was  ; just  as  Signor  Basseggio  was  getting  his 
knife  ready  to  cut  off  the  pretty  hand,  the  Doge  had 
had  him  kicked  down  the  steps.  I also  thought  of 
something  else — quick — quick  as  you  can — go  home — 
make  a salve — and  then  come  back  here  to  the  Ducal 
Palace. 

“ And  I stood  on  the  great  stairs  with  my  bright 
little  phial  in  my  hand.  Old  Falieri  was  just  coming 
down  ; he  darted  a glance  at  me,  and,  his  choler 
rising,  said,  ‘ What  does  this  old  woman  want  here  ? ” 
Then  I curtsied  low — quite  down  to  the  ground — as 
well  as  I could,  and  told  him  that  I had  a nice  remedy 
which  would  very  soon  cure  the  beautiful  Dogess. 
When  the  old  man  heard  that,  he  fixed  a terrible  keen 
look  upon  me,  and  stroked  his  grey  beard  into  order ; 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


53 


then  he  seized  me  by  both  shoulders  and  pushed  me 
upstairs  and  on  into  the  chamber,  where  I nearly  fell 
all  my  length.  O Tonino,  there  was  the  pretty  child 
reclining  on  a couch,  as  pale  as  death,  sighing  and 
moaning  with  pain  and  softly  lamenting,  ‘ Oh  ! I am 
poisoned  in  every  vein.’  But  I at  once  set  to  work 
and  took  off  the  simple  doctor’s  silly  plaster.  O just 
Heaven  ! her  dear  little  hand — all  red  as  red — and  swol- 
len. Well,  well,  my  salve  cooled  it — soothed  it.  ‘That 
does  it  good  ; yes,  that  does  it  good,’  softly  whispered 
the  sick  darling.  Then  Marino  cried  quite  delighted, 
‘You  shall  have  a thousand  sequins,  old  woman,  if 
you  save  me  the  Dogess  ; ’ and  therewith  he  left  the 
room. 

“ For  three  hours  I sat  there,  holding  her  little  hand 
in  mine,  stroking  and  attending  to  it.  Then  the  darling 
woman  woke  up  out  of  the  gentle  slumber  into  which 
she  had  fallen,  and  no  longer  felt  any  pain.  After  I 
had  made  a fresh  poultice,  she  looked  at  me  with  eyes 
brimming  with  gladness.  Then  I said,  ‘ O most  noble 
lady,  you  once  saved  a boy’s  life  when  you  killed  the 
little  snake  that  was  about  to  attack  him  as  he  slept.’ 
O Tonino,  you  should  have  seen  the  hot  blood  rush 
into  her  pale  face,  as  if  a ray  of  the  setting  sun  had 
fallen  upon  it — and  how  her  eyes  flashed  with  the  fire 
of  joy.  ‘ Oh  ! yes,  old  woman,’  she  said,  ‘ oh  ! I was 
quite  a child  then — it  was  at  my  father’s  country  villa. 
Oh  ! he  was  a dear  pretty  boy — I often  think  of  him 
now.  I don’t  think  I have  ever  had  a single  happy  ex- 
perience since  that  time.’  Then  I began  to  talk  about 
you,  that  you  were  in  Venice,  that  your  heart  still  beat 
with  the  love  and  rapture  of  that  moment,  that,  in 
order  to  gaze  once  more  in  the  heavenly  eyes  of  the 
angel  who  saved  you,  you  had  faced  the  risk  of  the 
dangerous  aerial  voyage,  that  you  it  was  who  had  given 


54 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


her  the  nosegay  on  Holy  Thursday.  ‘ O Tonino,  To- 
nino,’  she  cried  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight,  ‘ I felt  it,  I felt 
it  ; when  he  pressed  my  hand  to  his  lips,  when  he  named 
my  name,  I could  not  conceive  why  it  went  so  strangely 
to  my  heart  ; it  was  indeed  pleasure,  but  pain  as  well. 
Bring  him  here,  bring  him  to  me — the  pretty  boy.’  ” 
As  the  old  woman  said  this  Antonio  threw  himself  upon 
his  knees  and  cried  like  one  insane,  “ O good  God  1 
pray  let  no  dire  fate  overtake  me  now — now  at  least — 
until  I have  seen  her,  have  pressed  her  to  my  heart.” 
He  wanted  the  old  woman  to  take  him  to  the  Palace 
the  very  next  day  ; but  she  flatly  refused,  since  old 
Falieri  was  in  the  habit  of  paying  visits  to  his  sick  wife 
nearly  every  hour  that  came. 

Several  days  went  by  ; the  old  woman  had  completely 
cured  the  Dogess  ; but  as  yet  it  had  been  quite  impos- 
sible to  take  Antonio  to  see  her.  The  old  woman 
soothed  his  impatience  as  well  as  she  could,  always  re- 
peating that  she  wras  constantly  talking  to  beautiful 
Annunciata  about  the  Antonio  whose  life  she  had  saved, 
and  who  loved  her  so  passionately.  Tormented  by  all 
the  pangs  of  desire  and  yearning  love,  Antonio  spent 
his  time  in  going  about  in  his  gondola  and  restlessly 
traversing  the  squares.  But  his  footsteps  involuntarily 
turned  time  after  time  in  the  direction  of  the  Ducal 
Palace.  One  day  he  saw  Pietro  standing  on  the  bridge 
close  to  the  back  part  of  the  Palace,  opposite  the  pris- 
ons, leaning  on  a gay-coloured  oar,  whilst  a gondola, 
fastened  to  one  of  the  pillars,  was  rocking  on  the  Canal. 
Although  small,  it  had  a comfortable  little  deck,  was 
adorned  with  tasteful  carvings,  and  even  decorated  with 
the  Venetian  flag,  so  that  it  bore  some  resemblance  to 
the  Bucentaur.  As  soon  as  Pietro  saw  his  former  com- 
rade he  shouted  out  to  him,  “Hi!  Signor  Antonio, 
the  best  of  good  greetings  to  you  ; your  sequins  have 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


55 


brought  me  good  luck.”  Antonio  asked  somewhat  ab- 
sently what  sort  of  good  luck  he  meant,  and  learned 
the  important  intelligence  that  nearly  every  evening 
Pietro  had  to  take  the  Doge  and  Dogess  in  his  gondola 
across  to  Giudecca,  where  the  Doge  had  a nice  house 
not  far  from  San  Giorgio  Maggiore.  Antonio  stared 
at  Pietro,  and  then  burst  out  spasmodically,  “ Comrade, 
you  may  earn  another  ten  sequins  and  more  if  you  like. 
Let  me  take  your  place  ; I will  row  the  Doge  over.” 
But  Pietro  informed  him  that  he  could  not  think  of 
doing  so,  for  the  Doge  knew  him  and  would  not  trust 
himself  with  anybody  else.  At  length  when  Antonio, 
his  mind  excited  by  all  the  tortures  of  love,  began  to 
give  way  to  unbridled  anger,  and  violently  importune 
him,  and  to  swear  in  an  insane  and  ridiculous  fashion 
that  he  would  leap  after  the  gondola  and  drag  it  down 
under  the  sea,  Pietro  replied  laughing,  “Why,  Signor 
Antonio,  Signor  Antonio,  why,  I declare  you  have  quite 
lost  yourself  in  the  Dogess’s  beautiful  eyes.”  But  he 
consented  to  allow  Antonio  to  go  with  him  as  his  assist- 
ant in  rowing  ; he  would  excuse  it  to  old  Falieri  on 
the  ground  of  the  weight  of  the  boat,  as  well  as  being 
himself  a little  weak  and  unwell,  and  old  Falieri  did 
always  think  the  gondola  went  too  slowly  on  this  trip. 
Off  Antonio  ran,  and  he  only  just  returned  to  the  bridge 
in  time,  dressed  in  coarse  oarsman’s  clothing,  his  face 
stained,  and  with  a long  moustache  stuck  above  his 
lips,  for  the  Doge  came  down  from  the  Palace  with  the 
Dogess,  both  attired  most  splendidly  and  magnificently. 
“Who’s  that  stranger  fellow  there  ? ” began  the  Doge 
angrily  to  Pietro  ; and  it  required  all  Pietro’s  most 
solemn  asseverations  that  he  really  required  an  assist- 
ant, before  the  old  man  could  be  induced  to  allow 
Antonio  to  help  row  the  gondola. 

It  often  happens  that  in  the  midst  of  the  wildest  de- 


56 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


lirium  of  delight  and  rapture  the  soul,  strengthened  as 
it  were  by  the  power  of  the  moment,  is  able  to  impose 
fetters  upon  itself,  and  to  control  the  flames  of  passion 
which  threaten  to  blaze  out  from  the  heart.  In  a sim- 
ilar way  Antonio,  albeit  he  was  close  beside  the  lovely 
Annunciata  and  the  seam  of  her  dress  touched  him,  was 
able  to  hide  his  consuming  passion  by  maintaining  a 
firm  and  powerful  hold  upon  his  oar,  and,  whilst  avoid- 
ing any  greater  risk,  by  only  glancing  at  her  momen- 
tarily now  and  then.  Old  Falieri  was  all  smirks  and 
smiles  ; he  kissed  and  fondled  beautiful  Annunciata’s 
little  white  hands,  and  threw  his  arm  around  her  slen- 
der waist.  In  the  middle  of  the  channel,  when  St. 
Mark’s  Square  and  magnificent  Venice  with  all  her 
proud  towers  and  palaces  lay  extended  before  them, 
old  Falieri  raised  his  head  and  said,  gazing  proudly 
about  him,  “Now,  my  darling,  is  it  not  a grand  thing 
to  ride  on  the  sea  with  the  lord — the  husband  of  the 
sea  ? Yes,  my  darling,  don't  be  jealous  of  my  bride, 
who  is  submissively  bearing  us  on  her  broad  bosom. 
Listen  to  the  gentle  splashing  of  the  wavelets ; are 
they  not  words  of  love  which  she  is  whispering  to  the 
husband  who  rules  her  ? Yes,  yes,  my  darling,  you 
indeed  wear  my  ring  on  your  finger,  but  she  below 
guards  in  the  depths  of  her  bosom  the  ring  of  betrothal 
which  I threw  to  her.”  “ Oh  ! my  princely  Sir,”  began 
Annunciata,  “oh  ! how  can  this  cold  treacherous  water 
be  your  bride  ? it  quite  makes  me  shiver  to  think  that 
you  are  married  to  this  proud  imperious  element.” 
Old  Falieri  laughed  till  his  chin  and  beard  tottered  and 
shook.  “ Don’t  distress  yourself,  my  pet,”  he  said,  “ it’s 
far  better,  of  course,  to  rest  in  your  soft  warm  arms 
than  in  the  ice-cold  lap  of  my  bride  below  there  ; but 
it’s  a grand  thing  to  ride  on  the  sea  with  the  lord  of 
the  sea!”  Just  as  the  Doge  was  saying  these  words, 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


57 


the  faint  strains  of  music  at  a distance  came  floating 
towards  them.  The  notes  of  a soft  male  voice,  gliding 
along  the  waves  of  the  sea,  came  nearer  and  nearer  ; 
the  words  that  were  sung  were — 

Ah  ! senza  amare, 

Andare  sul  mare, 

Col  sposo  del’  mare 
Non  puo  consolare. 

Other  voices  took  up  the  strain,  and  the  same  words 
were  repeated  again  and  again  in  every-varying  alterna- 
tion, until  the  song  died  awa  like  the  soft  breath  of 
the  wind  as  it  were.  Old  Falieri  appeared  not  to  pay 
the  slightest  heed  to  the  song ; on  the  contrary,  he 
was  relating  to  the  Dogess  with  much  prolixity  the 
meaning  and  history  of  the  solemnity  which  takes 
place  on  Ascension  Day  when  the  Doge  throws  his 
ring  from  the  Bucentaur  and  is  married  to  the  sea. 

He  spoke  of  the  victories  of  the  republic,  and  how 
she  had  formerly  conquered  Istria  and  Dalmatia  under 
the  rule  of  Peter  Urseolus  the  Second,1  and  how  this 
ceremony  had  its  origin  in  that  conquest.  But  if  old 
Falieri  heeded  not  the  song,  so  now  his  tales  were  lost 
upon  the  Dogess.  She  sat  with  her  mind  completely 
wrapped  up  in  the  sweet  sounds  which  came  floating 
along  the  sea.  When  the  song  came  to  an  end  her  eyes 
wore  a strange  far-off  look,  as  if  she  were  awakening 
from  a profound  dream  and  striving  to  see  and  inter- 
pret the  images  which  sportively  mocked  her  efforts 
to  hold  them  fast.  “ Senza  amare , senza  amare , non 
puo  consolare ,”  she  whispered  softly,  whilst  the  tears 
glistened  like  bright  pearls  in  her  heavenly  eyes,  and 


1 Pietro  Urseolo  II.  was  Doge  from  991  to  1009  ; Dalmatia  was 
subdued  in  997. 


58 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


sighs  escaped  her  breast  as  it  heaved  and  sank  with  the 
violence  of  her  emotions.  Still  smirking  and  smiling 
and  talking  away,  the  old  man,  with  the  Dogess  at  his 
side,  stepped  out  upon  the  balcony  of  his  house  near 
San  Giorgio  Maggiore,  without  noticing  that  Annun- 
ciata  stood  at  his  side  like  one  in  a dream,  speechless, 
her  tearful  eyes  fixed  upon  some  far-off  land,  wdiilsther 
heart  was  agitated  by  feelings  of  a singular  and  myste- 
rious character.  A young  man  in  gondolier’s  costume 
blew  a blast  on  a conch-shaped  horn,  till  the  sounds 
echoed  far  away  over  the  sea.  At  this  signal  another 
gondola  drew  near.  Meanwhile  an  attendant  bearing 
a sunshade  and  a maid  had  approached  the  Doge  and 
Dogess  ; and  thus  attended  they  went  towards  the  pal- 
ace. The  second  gondola  came  to  shore,  and  from  it 
stepped  forth  Marino  Bodoeri  and  several  other  per- 
sons, amongst  whom  were  merchants,  artists,  nay  peo- 
ple out  of  the  lowest  classes  of  the  populace  even ; 
and  they  followed  the  Doge. 

Antonio  could  hardly  wait  until  the  following 
evening,  since  he  hoped  then  to  have  the  desired 
message  from  his  beloved  Annunciata.  At  last — at 
last  the  old  woman  came  limping  in,  dropped  panting 
into  the  arm-chair,  and  clapped  her  thin  bony  hands 
together  again  and  again,  crying.  “ Tonino,  O Tonino  ! 
what  in  the  world  has  happened  to  our  dear  darling  ? 
When  I went  into  her  room,  there  she  lay  on  the  couch 
with  her  eyes  half  closed,  her  pretty  head  resting  on 
her  arm,  neither  slumbering  nor  awrake,  neither  sick 
nor  well.  I approached  her  : ‘ Oh  ! noble  lady,’  said  I, 
‘ wThat  misfortune  has  happened  to  you  ? Does  your 
scarce-healed  wound  hurt  you  still  ? ’ But  she  looked 
at  me,  oh  ! with  such  eyes,  Antonio  — I have  never 
seen  anything  like  them.  And  directly  I looked  down 
into  the  humid  moonlight  that  was  in  them,  they  with- 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


59 


drew  behind  the  dark  clouds  of  their  silken  lashes. 
Then  sighing  a sigh  that  came  from  the  depths  of  her 
heart,  she  turned  her  lovely  pale  face  to  the  wall  and 
whispered  softly — so  softly,  but  oh  ! so  sadly  ! that  I 
was  cut  right  to  the  heart,  ‘ A mare — amare — ah!  senza 
amare ! ’ I fetched  a little  chair  and  sat  down  beside 
her,  and  began  to  talk  about  you.  She  buried  herself 
in  the  cushions  ; and  her  breathing,  coming  quicker 
and  quicker  and  quicker,  turned  to  sighing.  I told  her 
candidly  that  you  had  been  in  the  gondola  disguised,  and 
that  I would  now  at  once  without  delay  take  you,  who 
were  dying  of  love  and  longing,  to  see  her.  Then  she 
suddenly  started  up  from  the  cushions,  and  whilst  the 
scalding  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks,  she  exclaimed 
vehemently,  ‘ For  God’s  sake  ! By  all  the  Holy  Saints  ! 
no — no — I cannot  see  him,  old  woman.  I conjure  you, 
tell  him  he  is  never — never  again  to  come  near  me — 
never.  Tell  him  he  is  to  leave  Venice,  to  go  away  at 
once  ! ’ ‘So  then  you  will  let  my  poor  Antonio  die  ? ’ 
I interposed.  Then  she  sank  back  upon  the  cushions, 
apparently  smarting  from  the  most  unutterable  anguish, 
and  her  voice  was  almost  choked  with  tears  as  she 
sobbed  out,  ‘ Shall  not  I also  die  the  bitterest  of 
deaths?’  At  this  point  old  Falieri  entered  the  room, 
and  at  a sign  from  him  I had  to  withdraw.”  “ She  has 
rejected  me — away— away  into  the  sea  ! ” cried  Anto- 
nio, giving  way  to  utter  despair.  The  old  woman 
chuckled  and  laughed  in  her  usual  way,  and  went  on, 
“You  simple  child!  you  simple  child!  don’t  you  see 
that  lovely  Annunciäta  loves  you  with  all  the  intensity, 
with  all  the  agonised  love  of  which  a woman’s  heart  is 
capable  ? You  simple  boy  ! Late  to-morrow  evening 
slip  into  the  Ducal  Palace  ; you  will  find  me  in  the 
second  gallery  on  the  right  from  the  great  staircase, 
and  then  we  will  see  what’s  to  be  done.” 


6o 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


The  following  evening  as  Antonio,  trembling  with 
expectant  happiness,  stole  up  the  great  staircase,  his 
conscience  suddenly  smote  him,  as  though  he  were 
about  to  commit  some  great  crime.  He  was  so  dazed, 
and  he  trembled  and  shook  so,  that  he  was  scarcely 
able  to  climb  the  stairs.  He  had  to  stop  and  rest  by 
leaning  himself  against  a column  immediately  in  front 
of  the  gallery  that  had  been  indicated  to  him.  All  at 
once  he  was  plunged  in  the  midst  of  a bright  glare  of 
torches,  and  before  he  could  move  from  the  place  old 
Bodoeri  stood  in  front  of  him,  accompanied  by  some 
servants,  who  bore  the  torches.  Bodoeri  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  the  young  man,  and  then  said,  “Ha!  you  are 
Antonio  ; you  have  been  assigned  this  post,  I know’ ; 
come,  follow  me.”  Antonio,  convinced  that  his  pro- 
posed interview  with  the  Dogess  was  betrayed,  followed, 
not  without  trembling.  But  imagine  his  astonishment 
when,  on  entering  a remote  room,  Bodoeri  embraced 
him  and  spoke  of  the  importance  of  the  post  that  had 
been  assigned  to  him,  and  which  he  would  have  to 
maintain  with  courage  and  firm  resolution  that  very 
night.  But  his  amazement  increased  to  anxious  fear 
and  dismay  when  he  learned  that  a conspiracy  had  been 
long  ripening  against  the  Seignory,  and  that  at  the 
head  of  it  was  the  Doge  himself.  And  this  wras  the 
night  in  which,  agreeably  to  the  resolutions  come  to 
in  Falieri’s  house  on  Giudecca,  the  Seignory  was  to  fall 
and  old  Marino  Falieri  was  to  be  proclaimed  sovereign 
Duke  of  Venice. 

Antonio  stared  at  Bodoeri  without  uttering  a wrord  ; 
Bodoeri  interpreted  the  young  man’s  silence  as  a 
refusal  to  take  part  in  the  execution  of  the  formidable 
conspiracy,  and  he  cried  incensed,  “You  cowardly 
fool ! You  shall  not  leave  this  palace  again  ; you 
shall  either  take  up  arms  on  our  side  or  die — but  talk 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


61 


to  this  man  first.”  A tall  and  noble  figure  stepped 
forward  from  the  dark  background  of  the  apartment. 
As  soon  as  Antonio  saw  the  man’s  face,  which  he 
could  not  do  until  he  came  into  the  light  of  the 
torches,  and  recognised  it,  he  threw  himself  upon  his 
knees  and  cried,  completely  losing  his  presence  of 
mind  at  seeing  him  whom  he  never  dreamt  of  seeing 
again,  “ O good  God  ! my  father,  Bertuccio  Nenolo  ! 
my  dear  foster-parent.”  Nenolo  raised  the  young 
man  up,  clasped  him  in  his  arms,  and  said  in  a gentle 
voice,  “Aye,  of  a verity  I am  Bertuccio  Nenolo,  whom 
you  perhaps  thought  lay  buried  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea,  but  I have  only  quite  recently  escaped  from  my 
shameful  captivity  at  the  hands  of  the  savage  Mor- 
bassan.-  Yes,  I am  the  Bertuccio  Nanolo  who  adopted 
you.  And  I never  for  a moment  dreamt  that  the 
stupid  servants  whom  Bodoeri  sent  to  take  possession 
of  the  villa,  which  he  had  bought  of  me,  would  turn 
you  out  of  the  house.  You  infatuated  youth ! Do 
you  hesitate  to  take  up  arms  against  a despotic  caste 
whose  cruelty  robbed  you  of  a father  ? Ay  ! go  down 
to  the  quadrangle  of  the  Fontego,  and  the  stains  which 
you  will  there  see  on  the  stone  pavements  are  the 
stains  of  your  father’s  blood.  The  Seignory  when 
making  over  to  the  German  merchants  the  depot  and 
exchange  which  you  know  under  the  name  of  the 
Fontego,  forbade  all  those  who  had  offices  assigned 
to  them  to  take  the  keys  with  them  when  they  went 
away ; they  were  to  leave  them  with  the  official  in 
charge  of  the  Fontego.  Your  father  acted  contrary 
to  this  law,  and  had  therefore  incurred  a heavy  pen- 
alty. But  now  when  the  offices  were  opened  on  your 
father’s  return,  there  was  found  amongst  his  wrares  a 
chest  of  false  Venetian  coins.  He  vainly  protested 
his  innocence  ; it  was  only  too  evident  that  some 


62 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


malicious  fiend,  perhaps  the  official  in  charge  himself, 
had  smuggled  in  the  chest  in  order  to  ruin  your  father. 
The  inexorable  judges,  satisfied  that  the  chest  had 
been  found  in  your  father’s  offices,  condemned  him 
to  death.  He  was  executed  in  the  quadrangle  of  the 
Fontego  ; nor  would  you  now  be  living  if  faithful 
Margaret  had  not  saved  you.  I,  your  father’s  truest 
friend,  adopted  you  ; and  in  order  that  you  might  not 
betray  yourself  to  the  Seignory,  you  were  not  told 
what  was  your  father’s  name.  But  now — now,  An- 
thony Dalbirger, — now  is  the  time — now,  to  seize  your 
arms  and  revenge  upon  the  heads  of  the  Seignory  your 
father’s  shameful  death.” 

Antonio,  fired  by  the  spirit  of  vengeance,  swore  to 
be  true  to  the  conspirators  and  to  act  with  invincible 
courage.  It  is  well  known  that  it  was  the  affront  put 
upon  Bertuccio  Nenolo  by  Dandulo  when  he  was 
appointed  to  superintend  the  naval  preparations,  and 
on  the  occasion  of  a quarrel  struck  Nenolo  in  the  face, 
that  induced  him  to  jöin  with  his  ambitious  son-in- 
law  in  his  conspiracy  against  the  Seignory.  Both 
Nenolo  and  Bodoeri  were  desirious  for  old  Falieri  to 
assume  the  princely  mantle  in  order  that  they  might 
themselves  rise  along  with  him.  The  conspirators’ 
plan  was  to  spread  abroad  the  news  that  the  Genoese 
fleet  lay  before  the  Lagune.  Then  when  night  came 
the  great  bell  in  St.  Mark’s  Tower  was  to  be  rung, 
and  the  town  summoned  to  arms,  under  the  false 
pretext  of  defence.  This  was  to  be  the  signal  for  the 
conspirators,  whose  numbers  were  considerable,  and 
who  were  scattered  throughout  all  Venice,  to  occupy 
St.  Mark’s  Square,  make  themselves  masters  of  the 
remaining  principal  squares  of  the  town,  murder  the 
leading  men  of  the  Seignory,  and  proclaim  the  Doge 
sovereign  Duke  of  Venice. 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


63 


But  it  was  not  the  will  of  Heaven  that  this  murder- 
ous scheme  should  succeed,  nor  that  the  fundamental 
constitution  of  the  harassed  state  should  be  trampled  in 
the  dust  by  old  Falieri — a man  inflamed  with  pride  and 
haughtiness.  The  meetings  in  Falieri’s  house  on  Giu- 
decca  had  not  escaped  the  watchfulness  of  the  Ten  ; 
but  they  failed  altogether  to  learn  any  reliable  intelli- 
gence. But  the  conscience  of  one  of  the  conspirators, 
a fur-merchant  of  Pisa,  Bentian  by  name,  pricked  him  ; 
he  resolved  to  save  from  destruction  his  friend  and  gos- 
sip, Nicolas  Leoni,  a member  of  the  Council  of  Ten. 
When  twilight  came  on,  he  went  to  him  and  besought 
him  not  to  leave  his  house  during  the  night,  no  matter 
what  occurred.  Leoni’s  suspicion  was  aroused  ; he  de- 
tained the  fur-merchant,  and  on  pressing  him  closely 
learned  the  whole  scheme.  In  conjunction  with  Gio- 
vanni Gradenigo  and  Marco  Cornaro  he  called  the 
Council  of  Ten  together  in  St.  Salvador's  (church)  ; and 
there,  in  less  than  three  hours,  measures  were  taken 
calculated  to  stifle  all  the  efforts  of  the  conspirators  on 
the  first  sign  of  movement. 

Antonio’s  commission  was  to  take  a body  of  men  and 
go  to  St.  Mark’s  Tower,  and  see  that  the  bell  was  tolled. 
Arrived  there,  he  found  the  tower  occupied  by  a large 
force  of  Arsenal  troops,  who,  on  his  attempting  to  ap- 
proach, charged  upon  him  with  their  halberds.  His 
own  band,  seized  with  a sudden  panic,  scattered  like 
chaff  ; and  he  himself  slipped  away  in  the  darkness  of 
the  night.  But  he  heard  the  footsteps  of  a man  follow- 
ing close  at  his  heels  ; he  felt  him  lay  hands  upon  him, 
and  he  was  just  on  the  point  of  cutting  his  pursuer 
down  when  by  means  of  a sudden  flash  of  light  he  rec- 
ognised Pietro.  “ Save  yourself,”  cried  he,  “ save  your- 
self, Antonio, — here  in  my  gondola.  All  is  betrayed. 
Bodoeri — Nenolo — are  in  the  power  of  the  Seignory  ; 


64 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOGESS. 


the  doors  of  the  Ducal  Palace  are  closed  ; the  Doge  is 
confined  a prisoner  in  his  own  apartment — watched  like 
a criminal  by  his  own  faithless  guards.  Come  along — 
make  haste — get  away.”  Almost  stupefied,  Antonio 
suffered  himself  to  be  dragged  into  the  gondola.  Muf- 
fled voices  — the  clash  of  weapons  — single  cries  for 
help — then  with  the  deepest  blackness  of  the  night 
there  followed  a breathless  awful  silence.  Next  morn- 
ing the  populace,  stricken  with  terror,  beheld  a fearful 
sight ; it  made  every  man’s  blood  run  cold  in  his  veins. 
The  Council  of  the  Ten  had  that  very  same  night 
passed  sentence  of  death  upon  the  leaders  of  the  con- 
spiracy who  had  been  seized.  They  were  strangled, 
and  suspended  from  the  balcony  at  the  side  of  the  Pal- 
ace overlooking  the  Piazzetta,  the  one  whence  the  Doge 
was  in  the  habit  of  witnessing  all  ceremonies,— and 
where,  alas  ! Antonio  had  hovered  in  the  air  before  the 
lovely  Annunciata,  and  where  she  had  received  from 
him  the  nosegay  of  flowers.  Amongst  the  corpses  were 
those  of  Marino  Bodoeri  and  Bertuccio  Nenolo.  Two 
days  later  old  Marino  Falieri  was  sentenced  to  death 
by  the  Council  of  Ten,  and  executed  on  the  so-called 
Giant  Stairs  of  the  Palace. 

Antonio  wandered  about  unconsciously,  like  a man 
in  a dream  ; no  one  laid  hands  upon  him,  for  no  one 
recognised  him  as  having  been  of  the  number  of  the 
conspirators.  On  seeing  old  Falieri’s  grey  head  fall, 
he  started  up,  as  it  were,  out  of  his  death-like  trance. 
With  a most  unearthly  scream — with  the  shout,  “ An- 
nunciata ! ” he  rushed  storming  in  the  Palace,  and 
along  the  passages.  Nobody  stopped  him  ; the  guards, 
as  if  stupefied  by  the  terrible  thing  that  had  just  taken 
place,  only  stared  after  him.  The  old  crone  came  to 
meet  him,  loudly  lamenting  and  complaining;  she 
seized  his  hand  and — a few  steps  more,  and  along  with 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


65 


her  he  entered  Annunciata’s  room.  There  she  lay, 
poor  thing,  on  the  couch,  as  if  already  dead.  Antonio 
rushed  towards  her  and  covered  her  hands  with  burn- 
ing kisses,  calling  her  by  the  sweetest  and  tenderest 
names. 

Then  she  slowly  opened  her  lovely  heavenly  eyes 
and  saw  Antonio  ; at  first,  however,  it  appeared  as  if 
it  cost  her  an  effort  to  call  him  to  mind  ; but  speedily 
she  raised  herself  up,  threw  both  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  and  drew  him  to  her  bosom,  showering  down 
her  hot  tears  upon  him  and  kissing  his  cheeks — his 
lips.  “Antonio — my  Antonio — I love  you,  oh  ! more 
than  I can  tell  you — yes,  yes,  there  is  a heaven  on 
earth.  What  are  my  father’s  and  my  uncle’s  and  my 
husband’s  death  in  comparison  with  the  blissful  joy 
of  your  love  ? Oh  ! let  us  flee — flee  from  this  scene  of 
blood  and  murder.”  Thus  spake  Annunciata,  her 
heart  rent  by  the  bitterest  anguish,  as  well  as  by  the 
most  passionate  love.  Amid  thousands  of  kisses  and 
never-ending  tears,  the  two  lovers  mutually  swore 
eternal  fidelity  ; and,  forgetting  the  fearful  events  of 
the  terrible  day  that  was  past,  they  turned  their  eyes 
from  the  earth  and  looked  up  into  the  heaven  which 
the  spirit  of  love  had  unfolded  to  their  view.  The  old 
woman  advised  them  to  flee  to  Chiozza ; thence  An- 
tonio intended  to  travel  in  an  opposite  direction  by 
land  towards  his  own  native  country. 

His  friend,  Pietro,  procured  him  a small  boat  and  had 
it  brought  to  the  bridge  behind  the  Palace.  When 
night  came,  Annunciata,  enveloped  in  a thick  shawl, 
crept  stealthily  down  the  steps  with  her  lover,  attended 
by  old  Margaret,  who  bore  some  valuable  jewel  caskets 
in  her  hood.  They  reached  the  bridge  unobserved,  and 
unobserved  they  embarked  in  their  small  craft.  An- 
tonio seized  the  oar,  and  away  they  went  at  a quick 
Vol.  II.— 5 


66 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


and  vigorous  rate.  The  bright  moonlight  danced 
along  the  waves  in  front  of  them  like  a gladsome 
messenger  of  love.  They  reached  the  open  sea.  Then 
began  a peculiar  whistling  and  howling  of  the  wind 
far  above  their  heads  ; black  shadows  came  trooping 
up  and  hung  themselves  like  a dark  veil  over  the  bright 
face  of  the  moon.  The  dancing  moonshine,  the  glad- 
some messenger  of  love,  sank  in  the  black  depths  of 
the  sea  amongst  its  muttering  thunders.  The  storm 
came  on  and  drove  the  black  piled-up  masses  of 
clouds  in  front  of  it  with  wrathful  violence.  Up  and 
down  tossed  the  boat.  “ O help  us  ! God,  help  us ! ” 
screamed  the  old  woman.  Antonio,  no  longer  master 
of  the  oar,  clasped  his  darling  Annunciata  in  his  arms, 
whilst  she,  aroused  by  his  fiery  kisses,  strained  him  to 
her  bosom  in  the  intensity  of  her  rapturous  affection. 
“ O my  Antonio  ! ” — “ O my  Annunciata  ! ” they  whis- 
pered, heedless  of  the  storm  which  raged  and  blus- 
tered ever  more  furiously.  Then  the  sea,  the  jealous 
widow  of  the  beheaded  Doge  Falieri,  stretched  up 
her  foaming  waves  as  if  they  were  giant  arms,  and 
seized  upon  the  lovers,  and  dragged  them,  along  with 
the  old  woman,  down,  down  into  her  fathomless 
depths. 

As  soon  as  the  man  in  the  mantle  had  thus  con- 
cluded his  narrative,  he  jumped  up  quickly  and  left 
the  room  with  strong  rapid  strides.  The  friends  fol- 
lowed him  with  their  eyes,  silently  and  very  much 
astonished  ; then  they  went  to  take  another  look  at  the 
picture.  The  old  Doge  again  looked  down  upon  them 
with  a smirk,  in  his  ridiculous  finery  and  foppish  vanity ; 
but  when  they  carefully  looked  into  the  Dogess’s  face 
they  perceived  quite  plainly  that  the  shadow  of  some 
unknown  pain — a pain  of  which  she  only  had  a fore- 


THE  DOGE  AND  DOG  ESS. 


67 


boding — was  throned  upon  her  lily  brow,  and  that 
dreamy  aspirations  of  love  gleamed  from  behind  her 
dark  lashes,  and  hovered  around  her  sweet  lips.  The 
Hostile  Power  seemed  to  be  threatening  death  and 
destruction  from  out  the  distant  sea  and  the  vaporous 
clouds  which  enshrouded  St.  Mark’s.  They  now  had  a 
clear  conception  of  the  deeper  significance  of  the 
charming  picture  ; but  so  often  as  they  looked  upon  it 
again,  all  the  sympathetic  sorrow  which  they  had  felt 
at  the  history  of  Antonio  and  Annunciata’s  love  re- 
turned upon  them  and  filled  the  deepest  recesses  of 
their  souls  with  its  pleasurable  awe. 


MASTER  MARTIN. , THE  COOPER , 
AND  HIS  JOURNEYMANS 


ELL  may  your  heart  swell  in  presentient  sadness, 


indulgent  reader,  when  your  footsteps  wander 
through  places  where  the  splendid  monuments  of  Old 
German  Art  speak,  like  eloquent  tongues,  of  the  mag- 
nificence, good  steady  industry,  and  sterling  honesty 
of  an  illustrious  age  now  long  since  passed  away.  Do 
you  not  feel  as  if  you  were  entering  a deserted  house  ? 
The  Holy  Book  in  which  the  head  of  the  household 
read  is  still  lying  open  on  the  table,  and  the  gay  rich 
tapestry  that  the  mistress  of  the  house  spun  with  her 
own  hands  is  still  hanging  on  the  walls  ; whilst  round 
about  in  the  bright  clean  cupboards  are  ranged  all 
kinds  of  valuable  works  of  art,  gifts  received  on  festive 
occasions.  You  could  almost  believe  a member  of  the 
household  will  soon  enter  and  receive  you  with  genuine 
hearty  hospitality.  But  you  will  wait  in  vain  for  those 
whom  the  eternally  revolving  wheel  of  Time  has 
whirled  away  ; you  may  therefore  surrender  yourself 
to  the  sweet  dream  in  which  the  old  Masters  rise  up 
before  you  and  speak  honest  and  weighty  words  that 
sink  deeply  into  your  heart.  Then  for  the  first  time 
will  you  be  able  to  grasp  the  profound  significance  of 

1 Written  for  the  Leipsic  Taschenbuch  zum  geselligen  Vergnügen 
for  1819. 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


69 


their  works,  for  you  will  then  not  only  live  in,  but  you 
will  also  understand  the  age  which  could  produce  such 
masters  and  such  works.  But,  alas!  does  it  not  happen 
that,  as  you  stretch  out  your  loving  arms  to  clasp  the 
beautiful  image  of  your  dream,  it  shyly  flees  away  on 
the  light  morning  clouds  before  the  noisy  bustle  of  the 
day,  whilst  you,  your  eyes  filling  with  scalding  tears, 
gaze  after  the  bright  vision  as  it  gradually  disappears  ? 
And  so,  rudely  disturbed  by  the  life  that  is  pulsing 
about  you,  you  are  suddenly  wakened  out  of  your 
pleasant  dream,  retaining  only  the  passionate  longing 
that  thrills  your  breast  with  its  delicious  awe. 

Such  sentiments  as  these,  indulgent  reader,  have 
always  animated  the  breast  of  him  who  is  about  to  pen 
these  pages  for  you,  whenever  his  path  has  led  him 
through  the  world-renowed  city  of  Nuremberg.  Now 
lingering  before  that  wonderful  structure,  the  fountain 1 
in  the  market-place,  now  contemplating  St.  Sebald’s 
shrine,2  and  the  ciborium3  in  St.  Lawrence’s  Church, 
and  Albert  Diirer’s4  grand  pictures  in  the  castle  and 

1 The  “Beautiful  Fountain,”  as  it  is  called,  is  about  64ft.  in  height, 
and  consists  of  three  stone  Gothic  pyramids  and  many  statues  (electors 
and  heroes  and  prophets).  It  was  built  by  Schonhoverin  1355-61,  and 

restored  in  1820. 

3 St.  Sebald’s  shrine  in  St.  Sebald’s  Church  consists  of  a bronze  sar- 
cophagus and  canopy  of  rich  Gothic  style.  It  stands  about  l6£ft.  high, 
and  bears  admirable  statues  of  the  Twelve  Apostles,  certain  church- 
fathers  and  prophets,  and  other  representations  of  a semi-mythological 
character,  together  with  reliefs  illustrative  of  episodes  in  the  saint’s  life. 
It  is  regarded  by  many  as  one  of  the  gems  of  German  artistic  work,  and 
is  the  result  of  thirteen  years’  labour  (1506-1519)  by  Peter  Vischer  and 
his  sons. 

3 This  ciborium  or  receptacle  for  the  host  is  the  work  of  Adam 
Krafft,  stands  about  68  feet  in  height,  and  represents  Christ’s  Passion. 
The  style  is  florid  Gothic,  and  the  material  stone. 

4 Albrecht  Dürer,  born  at  Nuremberg  in  1471,  and  died  in  1528,  con- 
temporary with  Titian  and  Raphael,  the  most  truly  representative  Ger- 
man painter  as  well  as,  perhaps,  the  greatest. 


70 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


in  the  town-house,  he  used  to  give  himself  up  entirely 
to  the  delicious  reveries  which  transported  him  into  the 
midst  of  all  the  glorious  splendours  of  the  old  Imperial 
Town.  He  thought  of  the  true-hearted  words  of  Father 
RosenblUth ' — 

O Nuremberg,  thou  glorious  spot, 

Thy  honour’s  bolt  was  aimed  aright, 

Sticks  in  the  mark  whereat  wisdom  shot ; 

And  truth  in  thee  hath  come  to  light. 

Many  a picture  of  the  life  of  the  worthy  citizens  of 
that  period,  when  art  and  manual  industry  went  loyally 
and  industriously  hand  in  hand,  rose  up  brightly  before 
his  mind’s  eye,  impressing  itself  upon  his  soul  in  espe- 
cially cheerful  and  pleasing  colours.  Graciously  be 
pleased,  therefore,  that  he  put  one  of  these  pictures 
before  you.  Perhaps,  as  you  gaze  upon  it,  it  may 
afford  you  gratification,  perhaps  it  may  draw  from  you 
a good-natured  smile,  perhaps  you  may  even  come  to 
feel  yourself  at  home  in  Master  Martin’s  house,  and 
may  linger  willingly  amongst  his  casks  and  tubs.  Well ! 
— Then  the  writer  of  these  pages  will  have  effected 
what  is  the  sincere  and  honest  wish  of  his  heart. 

How  Master  Martin  was  elected  “ Candle-master ,”  and  how 
he  returned  thanks  therefor. 

On  the  ist  of  May,  1580,  in  accordance  with  tradi- 
tionary custom  and  usage,  the  honourable  guild  of 
coopers,  or  wine-cask  makers,  of  the  free  Imperial 

1 Hans  Rosenblüth,  Meistersinger  and  Wappendichter  (Master- 
singer and  Herald-poet),  called  the  Schnepperer  (babbler),  was  a native 
of  Nuremberg.  Between  1431  and  1460  is  the  period  of  his  literary 
activity,  when  he  wrote  Fastnachtspiele  (developments  of  the  comic 
elements  in  Mysteries),  “ Odes”  on  Wine,  Farces,  &c.  He  marks  the 
transition  from  the  poetry  of  chivalric  life  and  manners  to  that  of 
burgher  life  and  manners. 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


7i 


Town  of  Nuremberg,  held  with  all  due  ceremony  a 
meeting  of  their  craft.  A short  time  previously  one 
of  the  presidents,  or  “Candle-masters,”  as  they  were 
called,  had  been  carried  to  his  grave  ; it  was  therefore 
necessary  to  elect  a successor.  Choice  fell  upon  Master 
Martin.  And  in  truth  there  was  scarcely  another  who 
could  be  measured  against  him  in  the  building  of  strong 
and  well-made  casks  ; none  understood  so  well  as  he 
the  management  of  wine  in  the  cellar;1  hence  he 
counted  amongst  his  customers  very  many  men  of  dis- 
tinction, and  lived  in  the  most  prosperous  circum- 
stances— nay,  almost  rolled  in  riches.  Accordingly, 
after  Martin  had  been  elected,  the  worthy  Councillor 
Jacobus  Paumgartner,  who,  in  his  official  character  of 
syndic,2  presided  over  the  meeting,  said,  “You  have 
done  bravely  well,  friends,  to  choose  Master  Martin  as 
your  president,  for  the  office  could  not  be  in  better 
hands.  He  is  held  in  high  esteem  by  all  who  know 
him,  not  only  on  account  of  his  great  skill,  but  on 
account  of  his  ripe  experience  in  the  art  of  keeping 
and  managing  the  rich  juice  of  the  grape.  His  steady 
industry  and  upright  life,  in  spite  of  all  the  wealth  he 
has  amassed,  may  serve  as  an  example  to  you  all.  Wel- 
come then  a thousand  times,  goodman  Master  Martin, 
as  our  honoured  president.” 

With  these  words  Paumgartner  rose  to  his  feet  and 


1 Wine  was  frequently  stored  at  this  period  on  the  cooper’s  premises 
in  huge  casks,  and  afterwards  drawn  off  in  smaller  casks  and  bottled. 

! In  many  Mediaeval  German  towns  the  rulers  (Burgomaster  and 
Councillors)  were  mostly  self-elected,  power  being  in  the  hands  of  a 
lew  patrician  families.  A Councillor  generally  attended  a full  meet- 
ing of  a guild  as  a sort  of  “patron”  or  “visitor.”  Compare  the  posi- 
tion which  Sir  Patrick  Charteris  occupied  with  respect  to  the  good 
citizens  of  Perth.  (See  Sir  Walter  Scott’s  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,  chap. 
viL,  et  passim.) 


72 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


took  a few  steps  forward,  with  open  arms,  expecting 
that  Martin  would  come  to  meet  him.  The  latter  im- 
mediately placed  both  his  hands  upon  the  arms  of  his 
chair  and  raised  himself  as  expeditiously  as  his  portly 
person  would  permit  him  to  rise, — which  was  only 
slowly  and  heavily.  Then  just  as  slowly  he  strode  into 
Paumgartner’s  hearty  embrace,  which,  however,  he 
scarcely  returned.  “Well,”  said  Paumgartner,  some- 
what nettled  at  this,  “ well,  Master  Martin,  are  you  not 
altogether  well  pleased  that  we  have  elected  you  to  be 
our  ‘ Candle-master  ’ ? ” Master  Martin,  as  was  his 
wont,  threw  his  head  back  into  his  neck,  played  with 
his  fingers  upon  his  capacious  belly,  and,  opening  his 
eyes  wide  and  thrusting  forward  his  under-lip  with  an 
air  of  superior  astuteness,  let  his  eyes  sweep  round  the 
assembly.  Then,  turning  to  Paumgartner,  he  began, 
“ Marry,  my  good  and  worthy  sir,  why  should  I not  be 
altogether  well  pleased,  seeing  that  I receive  what  is 
my  due  ? Who  refuses  to  take  the  reward  of  his  honest 
labour  ? Who  turns  away  from  his  threshold  the  de- 
faulting debtor  when  at  length  he  comes  to  pay  his 
long-standing  debt  ? What!  my  good  sirs,”  and  Martin 
turned  to  the  masters  who  sat  around,  “ what ! my  good 
sirs,  has  it  then  occurred  to  you  at  last  that  I — I must 
be  president  of  our  honourable  guild  ? What  do  you 
look  for  in  your  president  ? That  he  be  the  most  skil- 
ful in  workmanship  ? Go  look  at  my  two-tun  cask 
made  without  fire,1  my  brave  masterpiece,  and  then 
come  and  tell  me  if  there’s  one  amongst  you  dare  boast 

1 The  well-known  Great  Cask  of  Heidelberg,  built  for  the  Elector 
Palatine  Ernest  Theodore  in  1751,  is  calculated  to  hold  49, 000  gallons, 
and  is  32  feet  long  and  26  feet  in  diameter.  This  is  not  the  only 
gigantic  wine  cask  that  has  been  made  in  Germany.  Other  monsters 
are  now  in  the  cellars  at  Tübingen  (made  in  1546),  Groningen  (1678), 
Königstein  (1725),  &c. 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


73 


that,  so  far  as  concerns  thoroughness  and  finish,  he  has 
ever  turned  out  anything  like  it.  Do  you  desire  that 
your  president  possess  money  and  goods  ? Come  to 
my  house  and  I will  throw  open  chests  and  drawers, 
and  you  shall  feast  your  eyes  on  the  glitter  of  the 
sparkling  gold  and  silver.  Will  you  have  a president 
who  is  respected  by  noble  and  base-born  alike  ? Only 
ask  our  honoured  gentlemen  of  the  Council,  ask  the 
princes  and  noblemen  around  our  good  town  of  Nurem- 
berg, ask  his  Lordship,  the  Bishop  of  Bamberg,  ask 
what  they  all  think  of  Master  Martin  ? Oh  ! I — I don’t 
think  you’ll  hear  much  said  against  him.”  At  the  same 
time  Master  Martin  struck  his  big  fat  belly  with  the 
greatest  self-satisfaction,  smiling  with  his  eyes  half- 
closed.  Then,  as  all  remained  silent,  nothing  being 
heard  except  a dubious  clearing  of  the  throat  here  and 
there,  he  continued,  “Ay  ! ay  ! I see.  I ought,  I know 
very  well,  to  thank  you  all  handsomely  that  in  this 
election  the  good  Lord  above  has  at  last  seen  fit  to  en- 
lighten your  minds.  Well,  when  I receive  the  price  of 
my  labour,  when  my  debtor  repays  me  the  borrowed 
money,  I write  at  the  bottom  of  the  bill  or  of  the  re- 
ceipt my  ‘ Paid  with  thanks,  Thomas  1 Martin,  Master- 
cooper  here.’  1 Let  me  then  thank  you  all  from  my 
heart,  since  in  electing  me  to  be  your  president  and 
‘ Candle-master  ’ you  have  wiped  out  an  old  debt.  * As 
for  the  rest,  I pledge  you  that  I will  discharge  the 
duties  of  my  office  with  all  fidelity  and  uprightness. 
In  the  hour  of  need  I will  stand  by  the  guild  and  by 
each  of  you  to  the  very  best  of  my  abilities  with  word  and 
deed.  I will  exert  the  utmost  diligence  to  uphold  the 
honour  and  fame  of  our  celebrated  handicraft,  without 


1 Hoffmann  calls  him  Tobias  also  lower  down,  and  then  Thomas 
again. 


74 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


bating  one  jot  of  its  present  credit.  My  honoured  syn- 
dic, and  all  you,  my  good  friends  and  masters,  I invite 
to  come  and  partake  of  good  cheer  with  me  on  the  com- 
ing Sunday.  Then,  with  blithesome  hearts  and  minds, 
let  us  deliberate  over  a glass  of  good  Hochheimer1  or 
Johannisberger,2  or  any  other  choice  wine  in  my  cellar 
that  your  palates  may  crave,  what  can  be  done  for  the 
furtherance  of  our  common  weal.  Once  again,  I say 
you  shall  be  all  heartily  welcome.” 

The  honest  masters’  countenances,  which  had  percep- 
tibly clouded  on  hearing  Master  Martin’s  proud  words, 
now  recovered  their  serenity,  whilst  the  previous  dead 
silence  was  followed  by  the  cheerful  buzz  of  conversa- 
tion, in  which  a good  deal  was  said  about  Master  Mar- 
tin’s great  deserts,  and  also  about  his  choice  cellar.  All 
promised  to  be  present  on  the  Sunday,  and  offered  their 
hands  to  the  newly-elected  “ Candle-master,”  who  took 
them  and  shook  them  warmly,  also  drawing  a few  of 
the  masters  a little  towards  him,  as  if  desirous  of  em- 
bracing them.  The  company  separated  in  blithe  good- 
humour. 

What  afterwards  took  place  in  Master  Martin's  house. 

Now  it  happened  that  Councillor  Jacobus  Paum- 
gartner  had  to  pass  by  Master  Martin’s  in  order  to 
reach  his  own  home  ; and  as  they  both  stood  outside 
Master  Martin’s  door,  and  Paumgartner  was  about  to 
proceed  on  his  way,  his  friend,  doffing  his  low  bonnet, 
and  bowing  respectfully  and  as  low  as  he  was  able,  said 

1 Hochheimer  is  the  name  of  a Rhine  wine  that  has  been  celebrated 
since  the  beginning  of  the  ninth  century,  and  is  grown  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Hochheim,  a town  in  the  district  of  Wiesbaden. 

2 Johannisberger  is  also  grown  near  Wiesbaden.  The  celebrated 
vineyard  is  said  to  cover  only  39^  acres. 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


75 


to  him,  “ I should  be  very  glad,  my  good  and  worthy 
sir,  if  you  would  not  disdain  to  step  in  and  spend  an 
hour  or  so  in  my  humble  house.  Be  pleased  to  suffer 
me  to  derive  both  profit  and  entertainment  from  your 
wise  conversation.”  “Ay,  ay!  Master  Martin,  my 
friend,”  replied  Paumgartner  smiling,  “ gladly  enough 
will  I stay  a while  with  you  ; but  why  do  you  call  your 
house  a humble  house  ? I know  very  well  that  there’s 
none  of  the  richest  of  our  citizens  who  can  excel  you 
in  jewels  and  valuable  furniture.  Did  you  not  a short 
time  ago  complete  a handsome  building  which  makes 
your  house  one  of  the  ornaments  of  our  renowned 
Imperial  Town?1  In  respect  of  its  interior  fittings  I 
say  nothing,  for  no  patrician  even  need  be  ashamed  of 
it.” 

Old  Paumgartner  was  right  ; for  on  opening  the 
door,  which  was  brightly  polished  and  richly  ornament- 
ed with  brass-work,  they  stepped  into  a spacious  en- 
trance hall  almost  resembling  a state-room  ; the  floor 
was  tastefully  inlaid,  fine  pictures  hung  on  the  walls, 
and  the  cupboards  and  chairs  were  all  artistically  carved. 
And  all  who  came  in  willingly  obeyed  the  direction  in- 
scribed in  verses,  according  to  olden  custom,  on  a tab- 
let which  hung  near  the  door  : — 

Let  him  who  will  the  stairs  ascend 
See  that  his  shoes  be  rubbed  well  clean, 

Or  taken  off  were  better,  I ween  ; 

He  thus  avoids  what  might  offend. 

A thoughtful  man  is  well  aware 
How  he  indoors  himself  should  bear. 


1 Nuremberg  is  noted  for  its  interesting  old  houses  with  high  narrow 
gables  turned  next  the  street : amongst  the  most  famous  are  those  be- 
longing to  the  families  of  Nassau,  Tücher,  Peiler,  Petersen  (formerly 
Toppler),  and  those  of  Albrecht  Dürer  and  of  Hans  Sachs,  the  cobbler- 
poet  of  the  16th  century. 


7 6 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


It  had  been  a hot  day,  and  now  as  the  hour  of  twi. 
light  was  approached  it  began  to  be  close  and  stuffy  in 
the  rooms,  so  Master  Martin  led  his  eminent  guest  into 
the  cool  and  spacious  parlour-kitchen.  For  this  was 
the  name  applied  at  that  time  to  a place  in  the  houses 
of  the  rich  citizens  which,  although  furnished  as  a 
kitchen,  was  never  used  as  such — all  kinds  of  valuable 
utensils  and  other  necessaries  of  housekeeping  being 
there  set  out  on  show.  Hardly  had  they  got  inside  the 
door  when  Master  Martin  shouted  in  a loud  voice, 
“ Rose,  Rose  ! ” Then  the  door  was  immediately  opened, 
and  Rose,  Master  Martin’s  only  daughter,  came  in. 

I should  like  you,  dear  reader,  to  awTaken  at  this  mo- 
ment a vivid  recollection  of  our  great  Albrecht  Dürer’ s 
masterpieces  ; I would  wish  that  the  glorious  maidens 
whom  we  find  in  them,  with  all  their  noble  grace,  their 
sweet  gentleness  and  piety,  should  recur  to  your  mind, 
endowed  with  living  form.  Recall  the  noble  and  deli- 
cate figure,  the  beautifully  arched,  lily-white  forehead, 
the  carnation  flitting  like  a breath  of  roses  across  the 
cheek,  the  full  sweet  cherry-red  lips, — recall  the  eyes 
full  of  pious  aspirations,  half-veiled  by  their  dark  lashes, 
like  moonlight  seen  through  dusky  foliage, — recall  the 
silky  hair,  artfully  gathered  into  graceful  plaits, — re- 
call the  divine  beauty  of  these  maidens,  and  you  will 
see  lovely  Rose.  How  else  than  in  this  way  could  the 
narrator  sketch  the  dear,  darling  child  ? And  yet  per- 
mit me  to  remind  you  here  of  an  admirable  young  art- 
ist into  whose  heart  a quickening  ray  has  fallen  from 
these  beautiful  old  times.  I mean  the  German  painter 
Cornelius,1  in  Rome.  Just  as  Margaret  looks  in  Cor- 


1 Peter  von  Cornelius  (1783-1867),  founder  of  a great  German  school 
of  historical  painting.  Going  to  Rome  in  1811,  he  painted  a set  of 
seven  scenes  illustrative  of  Goethe’s  Faust,  having  previously  finished  a 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


77 


nelius’s  drawings  to  Goethe’s  mighty  Faust  when  she  ut- 
ters the  words,  “ Bin  weder  Fräulein  noch  schön  ”  *  1 (I 
am  neither  a lady  of  rank,  nor  yet  beautiful),  so  also 
may  Rose  have  looked  when  in  the  shyness  of  her  pure 
chaste  heart  she  felt  compelled  to  shun  addresses  that 
smacked  somewhat  too  much  of  freedom. 

Rose  bowed  low  with  child-like  respect  before  Paum- 
gartner,  and  taking  his  hand,  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 
The  crimson  colour  rushed  into  the  old  gentleman’s 
pale  cheeks,  as  the  sun  when  setting  shoots  up  a dying 
flash,  suddenly  converting  the  dark  foliage  into  gold, 
so  the  fire  of  a youth  now  left  far  behind  gleamed  once 
more  in  his  eyes.  “ Ay  ! ay  ! ” he  cried  in  a blithesome 
voice,  “ marry,  my  good  friend  Master  Martin,  you  are 
a rich  and  a prosperous  man,  but  the  best  of  all  the 
blessings  which  the  good  Lord  has  given  you  is  your 
lovely  daughter  Rose.  If  the  hearts  of  old  gentlemen 
like  us  who  sit  in  the  Town  Council  are  so  stirred  that 
we  cannot  turn  away  our  purblind  eyes  from  the  dear 
child,  who  can  find  fault  with  the  young  folks  if  they 
stop  and  stand  like  blocks  of  wood,  or  as  if  spell-bound, 
when  they  meet  your  daughter  in  the  street,  or  see  her 
at  church,  though  we  have  a word  of  blame  for  our 
clerical  gentry,  because  on  the  Allerwiese,2  or  wherever 

set  at  Frankfort  (on  Main).  Amongst  his  many  famous  works  are  the 
Last  Judgment  in  the  Ludwig  Church  at  Munich  and  frescoes  in  the 
Glyptothek  there. 

1 Gretchen’s  real  words  were  “ Bin  weder  Fräulein  weder  schön.” 
See  the  scene  which  follows  the  “ Hexenküche”  scene  in  the  first  part 
of  Faust. 

5 A meadow  or  common  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  which  served 
as  a general  place  of  recreation  and  amusement.  Nearly  every  German 
town  has  such  ; as  the  Theresa  Meadow  at  Munich,  the  Canstatt  Meadow 
near  Stuttgart,  the  Communal  Meadow  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Main 
not  far  from  Frankfort  (see  Goethe,  Wahrheit  und  Dichtung. , near  the 
beginning),  &c. 


78 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


else  a festival  is  held,  they  all  crowd  round  youf 
daughter,  with  their  sighs,  and  loving  glances,  and 
honied  words,  to  the  vexation  of  all  other  girls  ? Well, 
well,  Master  Martin,  you  can  choose  you  your  son-in- 
law  amongst  any  of  our  young  patricians,  or  wherever 
else  you  may  list.” 

A dark  frown  settled  on  Master  Martin’s  face  ; he 
bade  his  daughter  fetch  some  good  old  wine  ; and  after 
she  had  left  the  room,  the  hot  blushes  mantling  thick 
and  fast  upon  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  bent  upon  the 
floor,  he  turned  to  old  Paumgartner,  “Of  a verity,  my 
good  sir,  Heaven  has  dowered  my  daughter  with  ex- 
ceptional beauty,  and  herein  too  I have  been  made 
rich  ; but  how  can  you  speak  of  it  in  the  girl’s  presence  ? 
And  as  for  a patrician  son-in-law,  there'll  never  be  anv- 
thing  of  that  sort.”  “Enough,  Master  Martin,  say  no 
more,”  replied  Paumgartner,  laughing.  “ Out  of  the 
fulness  of  the  heart  the  mouth  must  speak.  Don't  you 
believe,  then,  that  when  I set  eyes  on  Rose  the  sluggish 
blood  begins  to  leap  in  my  old  heart  also  ? And  if  I 
do  honestly  speak  out  what  she  herself  must  very  well 
know,  surely  there’s  no  very  great  mischief  done.” 

Rose  brought  the  wine  and  two  beautiful  drinking- 
glasses.  Then  Martin  pushed  the  heavy  table,  which 
was  ornamented  with  some  remarkable  carving,  into  the 
middle  of  the  kitchen.  Scarcely,  however,  had  the  old 
gentlemen  taken  their  places  and  Master  Martin  had 
filled  the  glasses  when  a trampling  of  horses  was  heard 
in  front  of  the  house.  It  seemed  as  if  a horseman  had 
pulled  up,  and  as  if  his  voice  was  heard  in  the  entrance- 
passage  below.  Rose  hastened  down  and  soon  came 
back  with  the  intelligence  that  old  Junker  ! Heinrich 

1 This  word  is  generally  used  to  designate  an  untitled  country  noble- 
man, a member  of  an  old-established  noble  “county”  family.  In 
Prussia  the  name  came  to  be  applied  to  a political  party.  A most  in- 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


79 


von  Spangenberg  was  there  and  wished  to  speak  to 
Master  Martin.  “ Marry  ! ” cried  Martin,  “ now  this  is 
what  I call  a fine  lucky  evening,  which  brings  me  my 
best  and  oldest  customer.  New  orders  of  course,  I see 

I shall  have  to  ‘cask’  out  again” Therewith  he 

hastened  down  as  fast  as  he  was  able  to  meet  his  wel- 
come guest. 

How  Master  Martin  extols  his  trade  above  all  others. 

The  Hochheimer  sparkled  in  the  beautiful  cut  drink- 
ing-glasses, and  loosened  the  tongues  and  opened  the 
hearts  of  the  three  old  gentlemen.  Old  Spangenberg 
especially,  who,  though  advanced  in  years,  was  yet 
brimming  with  freshness  and  vivacity,  had  many  a jolly 
prank  out  of  his  merry  youth  to  relate,  so  that  Master 
Martin’s  belly  wabbled  famously,  and  again  and  again 
he  had  to  brush  the  tears  out  of  his  eyes,  caused  by  his 
loud  and  hearty  laughing.  Herr  Paumgartner,  too, 
forgot  more  than  was  customary  with  him  the  dignity 
of  the  Councillor,  and  enjoyed  right  well  the  noble 
liquor  and  the  merry  conversation.  But  when  Rose 
again  made  her  appearance  with  the  neat  housekeeper’s 
basket  under  her  arm,  out  of  which  she  took  a table- 
cloth as  dazzling  white  as  fresh-fallen  snow, — when 
she  tripped  backwards  and  forwards  busy  with  house- 
hold matters,  laying  the  cloth,  and  placing  a plentiful 
supply  of  appetising  dishes  on  the  table, — when,  with 
a winning  smile  she  invited  the  gentlemen  not  to 
despise  what  had  been  hurriedly  prepared,  but  to  turn 
to  and  eat — during  all  this  time  their  conversation  and 
laughter  ceased.  Neither  Paumgartner  nor  Spangen- 

teresting  description  of  the  old  Prussian  Junker  is  given  in  Wilibald 
Alexis’  (W.  H.  Häring’s)  charming  novel  Die  Hosen  des  Herrn  v. 
Bredow  (1846-48),  in  Sir  Walter  Scott’s  style. 


8o 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


berg  averted  their  sparkling  eyes  from  the  fascinating 
maiden,  whilst  Master  Martin  too,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  and  folding  his  hands,  watched  her  busy  move- 
ments with  a gratified  smile.  Rose  was  withdrawing, 
but  old  Spangenberg  was  on  his  feet  in  a moment, 
quick  as  a youth ; he  took  the  girl  by  both  shoulders 
and  cried,  again  and  again,  as  the  bright  tears  trickled 
from  his  eyes,  “ Oh  you  good,  you  sweet  little  angel ! 
What  a dear  darling  girl  you  are  ! ” then  he  kissed  her 
twice — three  times  on  the  forehead,  and  returned  to 
his  seat,  apparently  in  deep  thought. 

Paumgartner  proposed  the  toast  of  Rose’s  health. 
“Yes,”  began  Spangenberg,  after  she  had  gone  out  of 
the  room,  “yes,  Master  Martin,  Providence  has  given 
you  a precious  jewel  in  your  daughter,  whom  you 
cannot  well  over-estimate.  She  will  yet  bring  you  to 
great  honour.  Who  is  there,  let  him  be  of  what  rank 
in  life  he  may,  who  would  not  willingly  be  your  son- 
in-law?”  “There  you  are,”  interposed  Paumgartner-, 
“ there  you  see,  Master  Martin,  the  noble  Herr  von 
Spangenberg  is  exactly  of  my  opinion.  I already  see 
our  dear  Rose  a patrician’s  bride  with  the  rich  jewellery 
of  pearls1  in  her  beautiful  flaxen  hair.”  “My  dear 
sirs,”  began  Martin,  quite  testily,  “why  do  you,  my 
dear  sirs,  keep  harping  upon  this  matter — a matter  to 
which  I have  not  as  yet  directed  my  thoughts  ? My 
Rose  has  only  just  reached  her  eighteenth  year;  it’s 
not  time  for  such  a young  thing  to  be  looking  out  for 
a lover.  How  things  may  turn  out  afterwards — well, 
that  I leave  entirely  to  the  will  of  the  Lord  ; but  this  I 
do  at  any  rate  know,  that  none  shall  touch  my  daugh- 
ter’s hand,  be  he  patrician  or  who  he  may,  except  the 


1 A string  of  pearls  worn  on  the  wedding-day  was  a prerogative  of  a 
patrician  bride. 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


81 


cooper  who  approves  himself  the  cleverest  and  skil- 
fullest  master  in  his  trade — presuming,  of  course,  that 
my  daughter  will  have  him,  for  never  will  I constrain 
my  dear  child  to  do  anything  in  the  world,  least  of  all 
to  make  a marriage  that  she  does  not  like.”  Spangen- 
berg and  Paumgartner  looked  at  each  other,  perfectly 
astonished  at  this  extraordinary  decision  of  the  Mas- 
ter's.1 At  length,  after  some  clearing  of  his  throat, 
Spangenberg  began,  “ So,  then,  your  daughter  is  not  to 
wed  out  of  her  own  station  ? ” “God  forbid  she  should,” 
rejoined  Martin.  “ But,”  continued  Spangenberg,  “ if 
now  a skilled  master  of  a higher  trade,  say  a goldsmith, 
or  even  a brave  young  artist,  were  to  sue  for  your  Rose 
and  succeeded  in  winning  her  favour  more  than  all 
other  young  journeymen,  what  then  ? ” “I  should  say,” 
replied  Master  Martin,  throwing  his  head  back  into  his 
neck,  “show  me,  my  excellent  young  friend,  the  fine 
two-tun  cask  which  you  have  made  as  your  masterpiece  ; 
and  if  he  could  not  do  so,  I should  kindly  open  the 
door  for  him  and  very  politely  request  him  to  try  his 
luck  elsewhere.”  “Ah!  but,”  went  on  Spangenberg 
again,  “if  the  young  journeyman  should  reply,  ‘A 


1 In  the  Middle  Ages,  in  Nuremberg,  and  in  most  other  industrial 
towns  also,  the  artisans  and  others  who  formed  guilds  (each  respective 
trade  or  calling  having  generally  its  guild)  were  divided  into  three 
grades,  masters,  journeymen,  and  apprentices.  Admission  from  one 
of  these  grades  into  the  one  next  above  it  was  subject  to  various  more 
or  less  restrictive  conditions.  A man  could  only  become  a “master” 
and  regularly  set  up  in  business  for  himself  after  having  gone  through 
the  various  stages  of  training  in  conformity  with  the  rules  or  prescrip- 
tions of  his  guild,  after  having  constructed  his  masterpiece  to  the  satis- 
faction of  a specially  appointed  commission,  and  after  fulfilling  certain 
requirements  as  to  age,  citizenship,  and  in  some  cases  possession  of  a 
certain  amount  of  property.  It  was  usual  for  journeymen  to  spend 
a certain  time  in  travelling,  going  from  one  centre  of  their  trade  to 
another. 


Vol.  II.— 6 


82 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


little  structure  of  that  kind  I cannot  show  you,  but 
come  with  me  to  the  market-place  and  look  at  yon 
beautiful  house  which  is  sending  up  its  slender  gable 
into  the  free  open  air — that’s  my  masterpiece.’  ” “Ah  ! 
my  good  sir,  my  good  sir,”  broke  in  Master  Martin  im- 
patiently, “why  do  you  give  yourself  all  this  trouble  to 
try  and  make  me  alter  my  conviction  ? Once  and  for  all, 
my  son-in-law  must  be  of  my  trade  ; for  my  trade  I hold 
to  be  the  finest  trade  there  is  in  the  world.  Do  you 
think  we’ve  nothing  to  do  but  to  fix  the  staves  into  the 
trestles  (hoops),  so  that  the  cask  may  hold  together  ? 
Marry,  it’s  a fine  thing  and  an  admirable  thing  that  our 
handiwork  requires  a previous  knowledge  of  the  way 
in  which  that  noble  blessing  of  Heaven,  good  wine, 
must  be  kept  and  managed,  that  it  may  acquire 
strength  and  flavour  so  as  to  go  through  all  our  veins 
and  warm  our  blood  like  the  true  spirit  of  life  ! And 
then  as  for  the  construction  of  the  casks — if  we  are 
to  turn  out  a successful  piece  of  work,  must  we  not 
first  draw  out  our  plans  with  compass  and  rule  ? We 
must  be  arithmeticians  and  geometricians  of  no  mean 
attainments,  how  else  can  we  adapt  the  proportion 
and  size  of  the  cask  to  the  measure  of  its  contents  ? 
Ay,  sir,  my  heart  laughs  in  my  body  when  we’ve 
bravely  laboured  at  the  staves  with  jointer  and  adze 
and  have  gotten  a brave  cask  in  the  vice  ; and  then 
when  my  journeymen  swing  their  mallets  and  down 
it  comes  on  the  drivers  clipp  ! clapp  ! clipp  ! clapp  ! 
— that’s  merry  music  for  you  ; and  there  stands  your 
well-made  cask.  And  of  a verity  I may  look  a little 
proudly  about  me  when  I take  my  marking-tool  in 
my  hand  and  mark  the  sign  of  my  handiwork,  that 
is  known  and  honoured  of  all  respectable  wine-masters, 
on  the  bottom  of  the  cask.  You  spoke  of  house-build- 
ing, my  good  sir.  Well,  a beautiful  house  is  in  truth 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


83 


a glorious  piece  of  work,  but  if  I were  a house-builder 
and  went  past  a house  I had  built,  and  saw  a dirty  fel- 
low or  good-for-nothing  rascal  who  had  got  possession 
of  it  looking  down  upon  me  from  the  bay-window,  I 
should  feel  thoroughly  ashamed, — I should  feel,  purely 
out  of  vexation  and  annoyance,  as  if  I should  like  to 
pull  down  and  destroy  my  own  work.  But  nothing 
like  that  can  happen  with  the  structures  I build.  Within 
them  there  comes  and  lives  once  for  all  nothing  but 
the  purest  spirit  on  earth — good  wine.  God  prosper 
my  handiwork  ! ” 

“That’s  a fine  eulogy,”  said  Spangenberg,  “and 
honestly  and  well  meant.  It  does  you  honour  to  think 
so  highly  of  your  craft  ; but — do  not  get  impatient  if  I 
keep  harping  upon  the  same  string — now  if  a patrician 
really  came  and  sued  for  your  daughter  ? When  a 
thing  is  brought  right  home  to  a man  it  often  looks 
very  different  from  what  he  thought  it  would.”  “Why, 
i’  faith,”  cried  Master  Martin  somewhat  vehemently, 
“why,  what  else  could  I do  but  make  a polite  bow  and 
say,  ‘ My  dear  sir,  if  you  were  a brave  cooper,  but  as  it 

is’” “Stop  a bit,”  broke  in  Spangenberg  again; 

“but  if  now  some  fine  day  a handsome  Junker  on  a 
gallant  horse,  with  a brilliant  retinue  dressed  in  magnif- 
icent silks  and  satins,  were  to  pull  up  before  your 
door  and  ask  you  for  Rose  to  wife  ? ” “ Marry,  by  my 

faith,”  cried  Master  Martin  still  more  vehemently  than 
before,  “ why,  marry,  I should  run  down  as  fast  as  I 
could  and  lock  and  bolt  the  door,  and  I should  shout 
‘ Ride  on  farther ! Ride  on  farther ! my  worshipful 
Herr  Junker  ; roses  like  mine  don’t  blossom  for  you. 
My  wine-cellar  and  my  money-bags  would,  I dare  say, 
suit  you  passing  well — and  you  would  take  the  girl  in 
with  the  bargain  ; but  ride  on  ! ride  on  farther.’  ” Old 
Spangenberg  rose  to  his  feet,  his  face  hot  and  red  all 


84 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


over  ; then,  leaning  both  hands  on  the  table,  he  stood 
looking  on  the  floor  before  him.  “Well,”  he  began 
after  a pause,  “and  now  the  last  question,  Master 
Martin.  If  the  Junker  before  your  door  were  my  own 
son,  if  I myself  stopped  at  your  door,  would  you  shut 
it  then,  should  you  believe  then  that  we  were  only 
come  for  your  wine-cellar  and  your  money-bags  ? ” 
“Not  at  all,  not  at  all,  my  good  and  honoured  sir,” 
replied  Master  Martin.  “ I would  gladly  throw  open 
my  door,  and  everything  in  my  house  should  be  at 
your  and  your  son’s  service  ; but  as  for  my  Rose,  I 
should  say  to  you,  ‘ If  it  had  only  pleased  Providence 
to  make  your  gallant  son  a brave  cooper,  there  would 
be  no  more  welcome  son-in-law  on  earth  than  he  ; but 

now’ But,  my  dear  good  sir,  why  do  you  tease 

and  worry  me  with  such  curious  questions  ? See  you, 
our  merry  talk  has  come  abruptly  to  an  end,  and  look  ! 
our  glasses  are  all  standing  full.  Let’s  put  all  sons-in- 
law  and  Rose’s  marriage  aside  ; here,  I pledge  you  to 
the  health  of  your  son,  who  is,  I hear,  a handsome 
young  knight.”  Master  Martin  seized  his  glass ; Paum- 
gartner  followed  his  example,  saying,  “A  truce  to  all 
captious  conversation,  and  here’s  a health  to  your 
gallant  son.”  Spangenberg  touched  glasses  with  them, 
and  said  with  a forced  smile,  “ Of  course  you  know  I 
was  only  speaking  in  jest ; for  nothing  but  wild  head- 
strong passion  could  ever  lead  my  son,  who  may  choose 
him  a wife  from  amongst  the  noblest  families  in  the 
land,  so  far  to  disregard  his  rank  and  birth  as  to  sue  for 
your  daughter.  But  methinks  you  might  have  answered 
me  in  a somewhat  more  friendly  way.”  “Well,  but, 
my  good  sir,”  replied  Master  Martin,  “even  in  jest  I 
could  only  speak  as  I should  act  if  the  wonderful  things 
you  are  pleased  to  imagine  were  really  to  happen.  But 
you  must  let  me  have  my  pride  ; for  you  cannot  but 


MASTER  M ARTIE. 


85 


allow  that  I am  the  skilfullest  cooper  far  and  near,  that 
I understand  the  management  of  wine,  that  I observe 
strictly  and  truly  the  admirable  wine-regulations  of  our 
departed  Emperor  Maximilian1  (may  he  rest  in  peace  !), 
that  as  beseems  a pious  man  I abhor  all  godlessness, 
that  I never  burn  more  than  one  small  half-ounce  of 
pure  sulphur2  in  one  of  my  two-tun  casks,  which  is 
necessary  to  preserve  it  — the  which,  my  good  and 
honoured  sirs,  you  will  have  abundantly  remarked 
from  the  flavour  of  my  wine.”  Spangenberg  resumed 
his  seat,  and  tried  to  put  on  a cheerful  countenance, 
whilst  Paumgartner  introduced  other  topics  of  conver- 
sation. But,  as  it  so  often  happens,  when  once  the 
strings  of  an  instrument  have  got  out  of  tune,  they  are 
always  getting  more  or  less  warped,  so  that  the  player 
in  vain  tries  to  entice  from  them  again  the  full-toned 
chords  which  they  gave  at  first,  thus  it  was  with  the 
three  old  gentlemen  ; no  remark,  no  word,  found  a 
sympathetic  response.  Spangenberg  called  for  his 
grooms,  and  left  Master  Martin’s  house  quite  in  an 
ill-humour  after  he  had  entered  it  in  gay  good  spirits. 

The  old  Grandmother' s Prophecy. 

Master  Martin  was  rather  ill  at  ease  because  his 
brave  old  customer  had  gone  away  out  of  humour  in 
this  way,  and  he  said  to  Paumgartner,  who  had  just 
emptied  his  last  glass  and  rose  to  go  too,  “ For  the  life 
of  me,  I can’t  understand  what  the  old  gentleman  meant 
by  his  talk,  and  why  he  should  have  got  testy  about  it 

1 From  another  passage  ( Der  Feind,  chap,  i.)  it  appears  that  the 
reference  is  to  a series  of  regulations  dealing  with  the  wine  industry, 
of  date  August  24,  1498,  in  the  reign  of  Maximilian  I. 

5 Sulphur  is  burnt  inside  the  cask  (care  being  taken  that  it  does  not 
touch  it)  in  order  to  keep  it  sweet  and  pure,  as  well  as  to  impart  both 
flavour  and  colour  to  the  wine. 


86 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


at  last.”  “ My  good  friend  Master  Martin,”  began 
Paumgartner,  “ you  are  a good  and  honest  man  ; and  a 
man  has  verily  a right  to  set  store  by  the  handiwork 
he  loves  and  which  brings  him  wealth  and  honour  ; but 
he  ought  not  to  show  it  in  boastful  pride,  that’s  against 
all  right  Christian  feeling.  And  in  our  guild-meeting 
to-day  you  did  not  act  altogether  right  in  putting  your- 
self before  all  the  other  masters.  It  may  true  that  you 
understand  more  about  your  craft  than  all  the  rest ; 
but  that  you  go  and  cast  it  in  their  teeth  can  only  pro- 
voke ill-humour  and  black  looks.  And  then  you  must 
go  and  do  it  again  this  evening  ! You  could  not  surely 
be  so  infatuated  as  to  look  for  anything  else  in  Spang- 
enberg’s  talk  beyond  a jesting  attempt  to  see  to  what 
lengths  you  would  go  in  your  obstinate  pride.  No 
wonder  the  worthy  gentleman  felt  greatly  annoyed 
when  you  told  him  you  should  only  see  common  cov- 
etousness in  any  Junker’s  wooing  of  your  daughter. 
But  all  would  have  been  well  if,  when  Spangenberg 
began  to  speak  of  his  son,  you  had  interposed — if  you 
had  said,  ‘ Marry,  my  good  and  honoured  sir,  if  you 
yourself  came  along  with  your  son  to  sue  for  my  daugh- 
ter— why,  i’  faith,  that  would  be  far  too  high  an  honour 
for  me,  and  I should  then  have  wavered  in  my  firmest 
principles.’  j Now,  if  you  had  spoken  to  him  like  that, 
what  else  could  old  Spangenberg  have  done  but  forget 
his  former  resentment,  and  smile  cheerfully  and  in 
good  humour  as  he  had  done  before  ? ” “ Ay,  scold  me,” 
said  Master  Martin,  “ scold  me  right  well,  I have  well 
deserved  it  ; but  when  the  old  gentleman  would  keep 
talking  such  stupid  nonsense  I felt  as  if  I were  choking, 
I could  not  make  any  other  answer.”  “ And  then,” 
went  on  Paumgartner,  “ what  a ridiculous  resolve  to 
give  your  daughter  to  nobody  but  a cooper  ! You  will 
commit,  you  say,  your  daughter’s  destiny  to  Providence, 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


87 


and  yet  with  human  shortsightedness  you  anticipate 
the  decree  of  the  Almighty  in  that  you  obstinately  de- 
termine beforehand  that  your  son-in-law  is  to  come 
from  within  a certain  narrow  circle.  That  will  prove 
the  ruin  of  you  and  your  Rose,  if  you  are  not  careful. 
Have  done,  Master  Martin,  have  done  with  such  un- 
christian childish  folly  ; leave  the  Almighty,  who  will 
put  a right  choice  in  your  daughter’s  honest  heart 
when  the  right  time  comes — leave  Him  to  manage  it 
all  in  his  own  way.”  “O  my  worthy  friend,”  said  Mas- 
ter Martin,  quite  crest-fallen,  “ I now  see  how  wrong  I 
was  not  to  tell  you  everything  at  first.  You  think  it  is 
nothing  but  overrating  my  handiwork  that  has  brought 
me  to  take  this  unchangeable  resolve  of  wedding  Rose 
to  none  but  a master-cooper  ; but  that  is  not  so  ; there 
is  another  reason,  a more  wonderful  and  mysterious 
reason.  I can’t  let  you  go  until  you  have  learned  all  ; 
you  shall  not  bear  ill-will  against  me  over-night.  Sit 
down,  I earnestly  beg  you,  stay  a few  minutes  longer. 
See  here  ; there’s  still  a bottle  of  that  old  wine  left 
which  the  ill-tempered  Junker  has  despised  ; come,  let’s 
enjoy  it  together.”  Paumgartner  was  astonished  at 
Master  Martin’s  earnest,  confidential  tone,  which  was 
in  general  perfectly  foreign  to  his  nature  ; it  seemed  as 
if  there  was  something  weighing  heavy  upon  the  man’s 
heart  that  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of. 

And  when  Paumgartner  had  taken  his  seat  and 
drunk  a glass  of  wine,  Master  Martin  began  as  follows. 
“You  know,  my  good  and  honoured  friend,  that  soon 
after  Rose  was  born  I lost  my  beloved  wife ; Rose’s 
birth  was  her  death.  At  that  time  my  old  grandmother 
was  still  living,  if  you  can  call  it  living  when  one  is 
blind,  deaf  as  a post,  scarce  able  to  speak,  lame  in 
every  limb,  and  lying  in  bed  day  after  day  and  night 
after  night.  Rose  had  been  christened  ; and  the  nurse 


88 


MASTES?  MARTIN. 


sat  with  the  child  in  the  room  where  my  old  grand, 
mother  lay.  I was  so  cut  up  with  grief,  and  when  I 
looked  upon  my  child,  so  sad  and  yet  so  glad — in  fact 
I was  so  greatly  shaken  that  I felt  utterly  unfitted  for 
any  kind  of  work,  and  stood  quite  still  and  wrapped  up 
in  my  own  thoughts  beside  my  old  grandmother’s  bed  ; 
and  I counted  her  happy,  since  now  all  her  earthly 
pain  was  over,  j And  as  I gazed  upon  her  face  a strange 
smile  began  to  steal  across  it,  her  withered  features 
seemed  to  be  smoothed  out,  her  pale  cheeks  became 
flushed  with  colour.  She  raised  herself  up  in  bed  ; she 
stretched  out  her  paralysed  arms,  as  if  suddenly  ani- 
mated by  some  supernatural  power, — for  she  had  never 
been  able  to  do  so  at  other  times.  She  called  distinctly 
in  a low  pleasant  voice,  ‘ Rose,  my  darling  Rose ! ’ 
The  nurse  got  up  and  brought  her  the  child,  which  she 
rocked  up  and  down  in  her  arms.  But  then,  my  good 
sir,  picture  my  utter  astonishment,  nay,  my  alarm,  when 
the  old  lady  struck  up  in  a clear  strong  voice  a song  in 
the  Hohe  fröhliche  Lobweis'  of  Herr  Hans  Berchler, 
mine  host  of  the  Holy  Ghost  in  Strasburg,  which  ran 
like  this — 

Maiden  tender,  with  cheeks  so  red, 

Rose,  listen  to  the  words  I say  ; 

Wouldst  guard  thyself  from  fear  and  ill? 

Then  put  thy  trust  in  God  alway  ; 

Let  not  thy  tongue  at  aught  make  mock. 

Nor  foolish  longings  feed  at  heart. 

A vessel  fair  to  see  he’ll  bring, 

In  which  the  spicy  liquid  foams, 

And  bright,  bright  angels  gaily  sing. 

And  then  in  reverent  mood 
Hearken  to  the  truest  love, 

Oh  ! hearken  to  the  sweet  love- words. 

' See  note  2,  p.  151.  The  German  Meistersinger  always  sang  with- 
out any  accompaniment  of  musical  instruments. 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


89 


The  vessel  fair  with  golden  grace — 

Lo  ! him  who  brings  it  in  the  house 
Thou  wilt  reward  with  sweet  embrace ; 

And  an  thy  lover  be  but  true, 

Thou  need’st  not  wait  thy  father’s  kisl 
The  vessel  fair  will  always  bring 
All  wealth  and  joy  and  peace  and  bliss ^ 

So,  virgin  fair,  with  the  bright,  bright  eyes, 
Let  aye  thy  little  ear  be  ope 
To  all  true  words.  And  henceforth  live, 
And  with  God’s  richest  blessing  thrive. 


And  after  she  had  sung  this  song  through,  she  laid 
the  child  gently  and  carefully  down  upon  the  coverlet  ; 
and,  placing  her  trembling  withered  hand  upon  her 
forehead,  she  muttered  something  to  herself,  to  us, 
however,  unintelligible  ; but  the  rapt  countenance  of 
the  old  lady  showed  in  every  feature  that  she  was  pray- 
ing. Then  her  head  sank  back  upon  the  pillows,  and 
just  as  the  nurse  took  up  the  child  my  old  grandmother 
took  a deep  breath  ; she  was  dead.”  “ That  is  a won- 
derful story,”  said  Paumgartner  when  Master  Martin 
ceased  speaking  ; “ but  I don’t  exactly  see  what  is  the 
connection  between  your  old  grandmother’s  prophetic 
song  and  your  obstinate  resolve  to  give  Rose  to  none 
but  a master-cooper.”  “ What  ! ” replied  Master  Mar- 
tin, “ why,  what  can  be  plainer  than  that  the  old  lady, 
especially  inspired  by  the  Lord  at  the  last  moments  of 
her  life,  announced  in  a prophetic  voice  what  must 
happen  if  Rose  is  to  be  happy  ? The  lover  who  is  to 
bring  wealth  and  joy  and  peace  and  bliss  into  the  house 
with  his  vessel  fair,  who  is  that  but  a lusty  cooper  who 
has  made  his  vessel  fair,  his  masterpiece  with  me  ? In 
what  other  vessel  does  the  spicy  liquid  foam,  if  not  in 
the  wine-cask  ? And  when  the  wine  works,  it  bubbles 
and  even  murmurs  and  splashes  ; that’s  the  lovely 
angels  chasing  each  other  backwards  and  forwards  in 


90 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


the  wine  and  singing  their  gay  songs.  Ay,  ay,  I tell 
you,  my  old  grandmother  meant  none  other  lover  than 
a master-cooper ; and  it  shall  be  so,  it  shall  be  so.” 
“ But,  my  good  Master  Martin,”  said  Paumgartner, 
“ you  are  interpreting  the  words  of  your  old  grand- 
mother just  in  your  own  way.  Your  interpretation  is 
far  from  satisfactory  to  my  mind  ; and  I repeat  that  you 
ought  to  leave  all  simply  to  the  ordering  of  Providence 
and  your  daughter's  heart,  in  which  I dare  be  bound 
the  right  choice  lies  hidden  away  somewhere.”  “And 
I repeat,”  interrupted  Martin  impatiently,  “that  my 
son-in-law  shall  be, — I am  resolved, — shall  be  none 
other  than  a skilful  cooper.”  Paumgartner  almost  got 
angry  at  Master  Martin’s  stubbornness  ; he  controlled 
himself,  however,  and,  rising  from  his  seat,  said,  “ It’s 
getting  late,  Master  Martin,  let  us  now  have  done  with 
our  drinking  and  talking,  for  neither  methinks  will  do 
us  any  more  good.” 

When  they  came  out  into  the  entrance-hall,  there 
stood  a young  woman  with  five  little  boys,  the  eldest 
scarce  eight  years  old  apparently,  and  the  youngest 
scarce  six  months.  She  was  weeping  and  sobbing 
bitterly.  Rose  hastened  to  meet  the  two  old  gentlemen 
and  said,  “ Oh  father,  father  ! Valentine  is  dead  ; there 
is  his  wife  and  the  children.”  “ What  ! Valentine 
dead?”  cried  Master  Martin,  greatly  startled.  “Oh! 
that  accident ! that  accident ! Just  fancy,”  he  continued, 
turning  to  Paumgartner,  “just  fancy,  my  good  sir, 
Valentine  was  the  cleverest  journeyman  I had  on  the 
premises  ; and  he  was  industrious,  and  a good  honest 
man  as  well.  Some  time  ago  he  wounded  himself 
dangerously  with  the  adze  in  building  a large  cask  ; 
the  wound  got  worse  and  worse  ; he  was  seized  with  a 
violent  fever,  and  now  he  has  had  to  die  of  it  in  the 
prime  of  life.”  Thereupon  Master  Martin  approached 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


9i 


the  poor  disconsolate  woman,  who,  bathed  in  tears, 
was  lamenting  that  she  had  nothing  but  misery  and 
starvation  staring  her  in  the  face.  “What!”  said 
Master  Martin,  “ what  do  you  think  of  me  then  ? 
Your  husband  got  his  dangerous  wound  whilst  working 
for  me,  and  do  you  think  I am  going  to  let  you  perish 
of  want  ? No,  you  all  belong  to  my  house  from  now 
onwards.  To-morrow,  or  whenever  you  l;ke,  we’ll  bury 
your  poor  husband,  and  then  do  you  and  your  boys  go 
to  my  farm  outside  the  Ladies  Gate,1  wThere  my  fine 
open  workshop  is,  and  where  I work  every  day  with 
my  journeymen.  You  can  install  yourself  as  house- 
keeper there  to  look  after  things  for  me,  and  your  fine 
boys  I will  educate  as  if  they  were  my  own  sons.  And, 
I tell  you  what,  I’ll  take  your  old  father  as  well  into 
my  house.  He  was  a sturdy  journeyman  cooper  once 
upon  a time  whilst  he  still  had  muscle  in  his  arms. 
And  now — if  he  can  no  longer  wield  the  mallet,  or  the 
beetle  or  the  beak  iron,  or  work  at  the  bench,  he  yet 
can  do  something  with  croze-adze,  or  can  hollow  out 
staves  for  me  with  the  draw-knife.  At  any  rate  he 
shall  come  along  with  you  and  be  taken  into  my 
house.”  If  Master  Martin  had  not  caught  hold  of  the 
woman,  she  would  have  fallen  on  the  floor  at  his  feet 
in  a dead  swoon,  she  was  so  affected  by  grief  and  emo- 
tion. The  eldest  of  the  boys  clung  to  his  doublet, 
whilst  the  two  youngest,  whom  Rose  had  taken  in  her 
arms,  stretched  out  their  tiny  hands  towards  him,  as  if 
they  had  understood  it  all.  Old  Paumgartner  said, 
smiling  and  with  bright  tears  standing  in  his  eyes, 
“ Master  Martin,  one  can’t  bear  you  any  ill-will ; ” and 
he  betook  himself  to  his  own  home. 


1 This  is  one  of  the  principal  round  towers,  erected  1558-1568,  in 
the  town  walls  ; it  is  situated  on  the  south-east. 


92 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


How  the  two  youtig  journeymen  Frederick  and  Reinhold 
became  acquainted  with  each  other. 

Upon  a beautiful,  grassy,  gently-sloping  hill,  shaded 
by  lofty  trees,  lay  a fine  well-made  young  journeyman, 
whose  name  was  Frederick.  The  sun  had  already  set, 
and  rosy  tongues  of  light  were  stretching  upwards 
from  the  furthest  verge  of  the  horizon.  In  the  dis- 
tance the  famed  imperial  town  of  Nuremberg  could 
be  plainly  seen,  spreading  across  the  valley  and  boldly 
lifting  up  her  proud  towers  against  the  red  glow  of  the 
evening,  its  golden  rays  gilding  their  pinnacles.  The 
young  journeyman  was  leaning  his  arm  on  his  bundle, 
which  lay  beside  him,  and  contained  his  necessaries 
whilst  on  the  travel,  and  was  gazing  with  looks  full  of 
longing  down  into  the  valley.  Then  he  plucked  some 
of  the  flowers  which  grew  among  the  grass  within 
reach  of  him  and  tossed  them  into  the  air  towards  the 
glorious  sunset  ; afterwards  he  sat  gazing  sadly  before 
him,  and  the  burning  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes.  At 
length  he  raised  his  head,  and  spreading  out  his  arms 
as  if  about  to  embrace  some  one  dear  to  him,  he  sang 
in  a clear  and  very  pleasant  voice  the  following  song : — - 

My  eyes  now  rest  once  more 
On  thee,  O home,  sweet  home  ! 

My  true  and  honest  heart 
Has  ne’er  forgotten  thee. 

0 rosy  glow  of  evening,  come, 

1 fain  would  naught  but  roses  see. 

Ye  sweetest  buds  and  flowers  of  love, 

Bend  down  and  touch  my  heart 
With  winsome  sweet  caresses. 

O swelling  bosom,  wilt  thou  burst  ? 

Yet  hold  in  pain  and  sweet  joy  fast. 

O golden  evening  red  ! 

O beauteous  ray,  be  my  sweet  messenger, 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


93 


And  bear  to  her  my  sighs  and  tears — 

My  tears  and  sighs  on  faithfully  to  her. 

And  were  I now  to  die, 

And  roses  then  did  ask  thee — say, 

“His  heart  with  love — it  pined  away.” 

Having  sung  this  song,  Frederick  took  a little  piece 
of  wax  out  of  his  bundle,  warmed  it  in  his  bosom,  and 
began  in  a neat  and  artistic  manner  to  model  a beauti- 
ful rose  with  scores  of  delicate  petals.  Whilst  busy 
with  this  work  he  hummed  to  himself  some  of  the 
lines  of  the  song  he  had  just  sung,  and  so  deeply  ab- 
sorbed was  he  in  his  occupation  that  he  did  not  ob- 
serve the  handsome  youth  who  had  been  standing 
behind  him  for  some  time  and  attentively  watching 
his  work. 

“Marry,  my  friend,”  began  now  the  youth,  “by  my 
troth,  that  is  a dainty  piece  of  work  you  are  making 
there.”  Frederick  looked  round  in  alarm  ; but  when 
he  looked  into  the  dark  friendly  eyes  of  the  young 
stranger,  he  felt  as  if  he  had  known  him  for  a long 
time.  Smiling,  he  replied,  “ Oh  ! my  dear  sir,  how 
can  you  notice  such  trifling  ? it  only  serves  me  for 
pastime  on  my  journey.”  “Well  then,”  went  on  the 
stranger  youth,  “ if  you  call  that  delicately  formed 
flower,  which  is  so  faithful  a reproduction  of  Nature, 
trifling,  you  must  be  a skilful  practised  modeller.  You 
have  afforded  me  a pleasant  surprise  in  two  ways. 
First,  I was  quite  touched  to  the  heart  by  the  song 
you  sang  so  admirably  to  Martin  Häscher’s  Zarte 
Buchstabenweis ; and  now  I cannot  but  admire  your 
artistic  skill  in  modelling.  How  much  farther  do  you 
intend  to  travel  to-day  ?”  Frederick  replied,  “ Yonder 
lies  the  goal  of  my  journey  before  our  eyes.  I am 
going  home,  to  the  famed  imperial  town  of  Nuremberg. 
But  as  the  sun  has  now  been  set  some  time,  I shall 


94 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


pass  the  night  in  the  village  below  there,  and  then  by 
being  up  and  away  in  the  early  morning  I can  be  in 
Nuremberg  at  noon.”  “ Marry,”  cried  the  youth, 
delighted,  “ how  finely  things  will  fit  ; we  are  both 
going  the  same  way,  for  I want  to  go  to  Nuremberg. 
I will  spend  the  night  with  you  here  in  the  village, 
and  then  we’ll  proceed  on  our  way  again  to-morrow. 
And  now  let  us  talk  a little.”  The  youth,  Reinhold 
by  name,  threw  himself  down  beside  Frederick  on  the 
grass,  and  continued,  “ If  I mistake  not,  you  are  a skil- 
ful artist-caster,  are  you  not  ? I infer  it  from  your  style 
of  modelling  ; or  perhaps  you  are  a worker  in  gold  and 
silver?”  Frederick  cast  down  his  eyes  sadly,  and  said 
dejectedly,  “ Marry,  my  dear  sir,  you  are  taking  me  for 
something  far  better  and  higher  than  I really  am.  Well, 
I will  speak  candidly  ; I have  learned  the  trade  of  a 
cooper,  and  am  now  going  to  work  for  a well-known 
master  in  Nuremberg.  You  will  no  doubt  look  down 
upon  me  with  contempt  since,  instead  of  being  able  to 
mould  and  cast  splendid  statues,  and  such  like,  all  I can 
do  is  to  hoop  casks  and  tubs.”  Reinhold  burst  out 
laughing,  and  cried,  “Now  that  I call  droll.  I shall 
look  down  upon  you — eh?  because  you  are  a cooper  ; 
why  man,  that’s  what  I am  ; I’m  nothing  but  a cooper.” 
Frederick  opened  his  eyes  wide  in  astonishment  ; he 
did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it,  for  Reinhold’s  dress 
was  in  keeping  with  anything  sooner  than  a journey- 
man cooper’s  on  travel.  His  doublet  of  fine  black  cloth, 
trimmed  with  slashed  velvet,  his  dainty  ruff,  his  short 
broadsword,  and  baretta  with  a long  drooping  feather, 
seemed  rather  to  point  to  a prosperous  merchant  ; and 
yet  again  there  was  a strange  something  about  the  face 
and  form  of  the  youth  which  completely  negatived  the 
idea  of  a merchant.  Reinhold,  noticing  Frederick's 
doubting  glances,  undid  his  travelling-bundle  and  pro* 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


95 


duced  his  cooper’s  apron  and  knife-belt,  saying,  “ Look 
here,  my  friend,  look  here.  Have  you  any  doubts  now 
as  to  my  being  a comrade  ? I perceive  you  are  astonished 
at  my  clothing,  but  I have  just  come  from  Strasburg, 
where  the  coopers  go  about  the  streets  as  fine  as  noble- 
men. Certainly  I did  once  set  my  heart  upon  something 
else  like  you,  but  now  to  be  a cooper  is  the  topmost 
height  of  my  ambition,  and  I have  staked  many  a grand 
hope  upon  it.  Is  it  not  the  same  with  you,  comrade  ? 
But  I could  almost  believe  that  a dark  cloud-shadow 
had  been  hung  unawares  about  the  brightness  of  your 
youth,  so  that  you  are  no  longer  able  to  look  freely 
and  gladly  about  you.  The  song  which  you  were  just 
singing  was  full  of  pain  and  of  the  yearning  of  love  ; 
but  there  were  strains  in  it  that  seemed  as  if  they  pro- 
ceeded from  my  own  heart,  and  I somehow  fancy  I 
know  all  that  is  locked  up  within  your  breast.  You 
may  therefore  all  the  more  put  confidence  in  me,  for 
shall  we  not  then  be  good  comrades  in  Nuremberg?” 
Reinhold  threw  his  arm  around  Frederick  and  looked 
kindly  into  his  eyes.  Whereupon  Frederick  said, 
“The  more  I look  at  you,  honest  friend,  the  stronger 
I feel  drawn  towards  'you  ; I clearly  discern  within 
my  breast  the  wonderful  voice  which  faithfully  echoes 
the  cry  that  you  are  a sympathetic  spirit.  I must 
tell  you  all — not  that  a poor  fellow  like  me  has  any 
important  secrets  to  confide  to  you,  but  simply  because 
there  is  room  in  the  heart  of  the  true  friend  for  his 
friend’s  pain,  and  during  the  first  moments  of  our  newT 
acquaintance  even  I acknowledge  you  to  be  my  truest 
friend. 

“ I am  now  a cooper,  and  may  boast  that  I under- 
stand my  work  ; but  all  my  thoughts  have  been 
directed  to  another  and  a nobler  art  since  my  very 
childhood.  I wished  to  become  a great  master  in 


96 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


casting  statues  and  in  silver-work,  like  Peter  Fischer 1 
or  the  Italian  Benvenuto  Cellini  ;2  and  so  I worked 
with  intense  ardour  along  with  Herr  Johannes  Holz- 
schuer,3 * * *  the  well-known  worker  in  silver  in  my  native 
town  yonder.  For  although  he  did  not  exactly  cast 
statues  himself,  he  was  yet  able  to  give  me  a good 
introduction  to  the  art.  And  Herr  Tobias  Martin, 
the  master-cooper,  often  came  to  Herr  Holzschuer’s 
with  his  daughter,  pretty  Rose.  Without  being  con- 
sciously aware  of  it,  I fell  in  love  with  her.  I then 
left  home  and  went  to  Augsburg  in  order  to  learn 
properly  the  art  of  casting,  but  this  first  caused  my 
smouldering  passion  to  burst  out  into  flames.  I saw 
and  heard  nothing  but  Rose  ; every  exertion  and  all 
labour  that  did  not  tend  to  the  winning  of  her  grew 
hateful  to  me.  And  so  I adopted  the  only  course  that 
would  bring  me  to  this  goal.  For  Master  Martin  will 
only  give  his  daughter  to  the  cooper  who  shall  make 
the  very  best  masterpiece  in  his  house,  and  who  of 
course  finds  favour  in  his  daughter’s  eyes  as  well.  I 
deserted  my  own  art  to  learn  cooperage.  I am  now 
going  to  Nuremberg  to  work  for  Master  Martin. 


1 Peter  Vischer  (c.  1455-1529),  a native  of  Nuremberg,  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  of  German  sculptors,  was  chiefly  engaged  in  making 
monuments  for  deceased  princes  in  various  parts  of  Germany  and 
central  Europe.  The  shrine  in  St.  Sebald’s,  mentioned  above,  is 
generally  considered  his  masterpiece. 

2 Benvenuto  Cellini  (1500-1569)  of  Florence,  goldsmith  and  worker 
in  metals.  Mr.  W.  M.  Rossetti  rightly  says  that  his  biography,  wTitten 
by  himself,  forms  one  of  the  most  “fascinating”  of  books.  It  has 
been  translated  into  English  by  Thomas  Roscoe,  and  by  Goethe  into 
German. 

3 Holzschuher  was  the  name  of  an  old  and  important  family  in  Nurem  • 

berg.  Fifty-four  years  before  the  date  of  the  present  story7,  that  is  in 

1526,  a member  of  the  family  was  burgomaster  of  his  native  town,  and 

was  painted  by  Dürer. 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


97 


But  now  that  my  home  lies  before  me  and  Rose’s 
image  rises  up  before  my  eyes,  I feel  overcome  with 
anxiety  and  nervousness,  and  my  heart  sinks  within 
me.  Now  I see  clearly  how  foolishly  I have  acted  ; 
for  I don’t  even  know  whether  Rose  loves  me  or 
whether  she  ever  will  love  me.”  Reinhold  had  list- 
ened to  Frederick’s  story  with  increasing  attention. 
He  now  rested  his  head  on  his  arm,  and,  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  hand,  asked  in  a hollow  moody  voice, 
“ And  has  Rose  never  given  you  any  signs  of  her  love  ? ” 
“ Nay,”  replied  Frederick,  “ nay,  for  when  I left 
Nuremberg  she  was  more  a child  than  a maiden.  ^ No 
doubt  she  liked  me  ; she  smiled  upon  me  most  sweetly 
when  I never  wearied  plucking  flowers  for  her  in  Herr 
Holzschuer’s  garden  and  weaving  them  into  wreaths, 

but ” “Oh!  then  all  hope  is  not  yet  lost,”  cried 

Reinhold  suddenly,  and  so  vehemently  and  in  such 
a disagreeably  shrill  voice  that  Frederick  was  almost 
terrified.  At  the  same  time  he  leapt  to  his  feet,  his 
sword  rattling  against  his  side,  and  as  he  stood  upright 
at  his  full  stature  the  deep  shadows  of  the  night  fell 
upon  his  pale  face  and  distorted  his  gentle  features 
in  a most  unpleasant  way,  so  that  Frederick  cried, 
perfectly  alarmed,  “ What’s  happened  to  you  all  at 
once?”  and  stepping  back,  his  foot  knocked  against 
Reinhold’s  bundle.  There  proceeded  from  it  the 
jarring  of  some  stringed  instrument,  and  Reinhold 
cried  angrily,  “ You  ill-mannered  fellow,  don’t  break 
my  lute  all  to  pieces.”  The  instrument  was  fastened 
to  the  bundle  ; Reinhold  unbuckled  it  and  ran  his 
fingers  wildly  over  the  strings  as  if  he  would  break 
them  all.  But  his  playing  soon  grew  soft  and  melo- 
dious. “ Come,  brother,”  said  he  in  the  same  gentle 
tone  as  before,  “ let  us  now  go  down  into  the  village. 
I’ve  got  a good  means  here  in  my  hands  to  banish 
Vol.  II.— 7 


9b 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


the  evil  spirits  who  may  cross  our  path,  and  who  might 
in  particular  have  any  dealings  with  me.”  “ Why, 
brother,”  replied  Frederick,  “what  evil  spirits  will  be 
likely  to  have  anything  to  do  with  us  on  the  way  ? But 
your  playing  is  very,  very  nice  ; please  go  on  with  it.” 
The  golden  stars  were  beginning  to  dot  the  dark 
azure  sky.  The  night- breezes  in  low  murmurous 
whispers  swept  lightly  over  the  fragrant  meadows. 
The  brooks  babbled  louder,  and  the  trees  rustled  in 
the  distant  woods  round  about.  Then  Frederick  and 
Reinhold  went  down  the  slope  playing  and  singing, 
and  the  sweet  notes  of  their  songs,  so  full  of  noble 
aspirations,  swelled  up  clear  and  sharp  in  the  air,  as 
if  they  had  been  plumed  arrows  of  light.  Arrived 
at  their  quarters  for  the  night,  Reinhold  quickly  threw 
aside  lute  and  bundle  and  strained  Frederick  to  his 
heart  ; and  Frederick  felt  on  his  cheeks  the  scalding 
tears  which  Reinhold  shed. 


How  the  two  young  journeymen , Reinhold  and  Frederick , 
were  taken  into  Master  Martins  house. 

Next  morning  when  Frederick  awoke  he  missed  his 
new-won  friend,  who  had  the  night  before  thrown  him- 
self down  upon  the  straw  pallet  at  his  side  ; and  as  his 
lute  and  his  bundle  were  likewise  missing,  Frederick 
quite  concluded  that  Reinhold,  from  reasons  which 
were  unknown  to  him,  had  left  him  and  gone  another 
road.  But  directly  he  stepped  out  of  the  house  Rein- 
hold came  to  meet  him,  his  bundle  on  his  back  and  his 
lute  under  his  arm,  and  dressed  altogether  differently 
from  what  he  had  been  the  day  before.  He  had  taken 
the  feather  out  of  his  baretta,  and  laid  aside  his  sword, 
and  had  put  on  a plain  burgher's  doublet  of  an  unpre- 
tentious colour,  instead  of  the  fine  one  with  the  velvet 


MASTES?  MARTIN. 


99 


trimmings.  “Now,  brother,”  he  cried,  laughing  mer- 
rily to  his  astonished  friend,  “ you  will  acknowledge 
me  for  your  true  comrade  and  faithful  work-mate  now, 
eh  ? But  let  me  tell  you  that  for  a youth  in  love  you 
have  slept  most  soundly.  Look  how  high  the  sun  is. 
Come,  let  us  be  going  on  our  way.”  Frederick  was 
silent  and  busied  with  his  own  thoughts  ; he  scarcely 
answered  Reinhold’s  questions  and  scarcely  heeded  his 
jests.  Reinhold,  however,  was  full  of  exuberant  spirits  ; 
he  ran  from  side  to  side,  shouted,  and  waved  his  baretta 
in  the  air.  But  he  too  became  more  and  more  silent 
the  nearer  they  approached  the  town.  “ I can’t  go  any 
farther,  I am  so  full  of  nervousness  and  anxiety  and 
sweet  sadness  ; let  us  rest  a little  while  beneath  these 
trees.”  Thus  spake  Frederick  just  before  they  reached 
the  gate  ; and  he  threw  himself  down  quite  exhausted 
in  the  grass.  Reinhold  sat  down  beside  him,  and  after 
a while  began,  “ I daresay  you  thought  me  extremely 
strange  yesterday  evening,  good  brother  mine.  But  as 
you  told  me  about  your  love,  and  were  so  very  dejected, 
then  all  kinds  of  foolish  nonsense  flooded  my  mind  and 
made  me  quite  confused,  and  would  have  made  me  mad 
in  the  end  if  your  good  singing  and  my  lute  had  not 
driven  away  the  evil  spirits.  But  this  morning  when 
the  first  ray  of  sunlight  awoke  me,  all  my  gaiety  of 
heart  returned,  for  all  nasty  feelings  had  already  left 
me  last  evening.  I ran  out,  and  whilst  wandering 
among  the  undergrowth  a crowd  of  fine  things  came 
into  my  mind  : how  I had  found  you,  and  how  all  my 
heart  felt  drawn  towards  you.  There  also  occurred  to 
me  a pretty  little  story  which  happened  some  time  ago 
when  I was  in  Italy  ; I will  tell  it  to  you,  since  it  is  a 
remarkable  illustration  of  what  true  friendship  can  do. 

“ It  chanced  that  a noble  prince,  a warm  patron  and 
friend  of  the  Fine  Arts,  offered  a very  large  prize  for  a. 


IOO 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


painting,  the  subject  of  which  was  definitely  fixed,  and 
which,  though  a splendid  subject,  was  one  difficult  to 
treat.  Two  young  painters,  united  by  the  closest  bond 
of  friendship  and  wont  to  work  together,  resolved  to 
compete  for  the  prize.  They  communicated  their  de- 
signs to  each  other  and  had  long  talks  as  to  how  they 
should  overcome  the  difficulties  connected  with  the 
subject.  The  elder,  more  experienced  in  drawing  and 
in  arrangement  and  grouping,  had  soon  formed  a con- 
ception of  the  picture  and  sketched  it  ; then  he  went 
to  the  younger,  whom  he  found  so  discouraged  in  the 
very  designing  that  he  would  have  given  the  scheme  up, 
had  not  the  elder  constantly  encouraged  him,  and  im- 
parted to  him  good  advice.  But  when  they  began  to 
paint,  the  younger,  a master  in  colour,  was  able  to  give 
his  friend  many  a hint,  which  he  turned  to  the  best  ac- 
count ; and  eventually  it  wTas  found  that  the  younger 
had  never  designed  a better  picture,  nor  the  elder 
coloured  one  better.  The  pieces  being  finished,  the 
two  artists  fell  upon  each  other’s  neck  ; each  was  de- 
lighted, enraptured,  with  the  other’s  work,  and  each 
adjudged  the  prize,  which  they  both  deserved,  to  his 
friend.  But  when,  eventually,  the  prize  was  declared 
to  have  fallen  to  the  younger,  he  cried,  ashamed,  ‘ Oh  ! 
how  can  I have  gained  the  prize  ? What  is  my  merit 
in  comparison  with  that  of  my  friend  ? I should  never 
have  produced  anything  at  all  good  without  his  advice 
and  valuable  assistance.’  Then  said  the  elder,  ‘And 
did  not  you  too  stand  by  me  with  invaluable  counsel  ? 
My  picture  is  certainly  not  bad  ; but  yours  has  carried 
off  the  prize  as  it  deserved.  To  strive  honestly  and 
openly  towards  the  same  goal,  that  is  the  way  of  true 
friends  ; the  wreath  which  the  victor  wins  confers  hon- 
our also  upon  the  vanquished.  I love  you  now  all  the 
more  that  you  have  so  bravely  striven,  and  in  your  vie- 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


lol 


tory  I also  reap  fame  and  honour.’  And  the  painter 
was  right,  was  he  not,  Frederick  ? Honest  contention 
for  the  same  prize,  without  any  malicious  reserve,  ought 
to  unite  true  friends  still  more  and  knit  their  hearts 
still  closer,  instead  of  setting  them  at  variance.  Ought 
there  to  be  any  room  in  noble  minds  for  petty  envy 
or  malicious  hate?”  “Never,  certainly  not,”  replied 
Frederick.  “We  are  now  faithful  loving  brothers,  and 
shall  both  in  a short  time  construct  our  masterpiece  in 
Nuremburg,  a good  two-tun  cask,  made  without  fire  ; 
but  Heaven  forbid  that  I should  feel  the  least  spark  of 
envy  if  yours,  dear  brother  Reinhold,  turned  out  to  be 
better  than  mine.”  “ Ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! ” laughed  Reinhold 
heartily,  “ go  on  with  you  and  your  masterpiece  ; you'll 
soon  manage  that  to  the  joy  of  all  good  coopers.  And 
let  me  tell  you  that  in  all  that  concerns  calculation  of 
size  and  proportion,  and  drawing  plans  of  sections  of 
circles,  you’ll  find  I’m  your  man.  And  then  in  choos- 
ing your  wood  you  may  rely  fully  upon  me.  Staves  of 
the  holm  oak  felled  in  winter,  without  worm-holes, 
without  either  red  or  white  streaks,  and  without  blem- 
ish, that’s  what  we  must  look  for  ; you  may  trust  my 
eyes.  I will  stand  by  you  with  all  the  help  I can,  in 
both  deed  and  counsel  ; and  my  own  masterpiece  will 
be  none  the  worse  for  it.”  “ But  in  the  name  of  all 
that’s  holy,”  broke  in  Frederick  here,  “why  are  we 
chattering  about  who  is  to  make  the  best  masterpiece  ? 
Are  we  to  have  any  contest  about  the  matter  ? — the  best 
masterpiece — to  gain  Rose  ! What  are  we  thinking 
about?  The  very  thought  makes  me  giddy.”  “Marry, 
brother,”  cried  Reinhold,  still  laughing,  “ there  was  no 
thought  at  all  of  Rose.  You  are  a dreamer.  Come 
along,  let  us  go  on  if  we  are  to  get  into  the  town.” 
Frederick  leapt  to  his  feet,  and  went  on  his  way,  his 
mind  in  a whirl  of  confusion. 


102 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


As  they  were  washing  and  brushing  off  the  dust  of 
travel  in  the  hostelry,  Reinhold  said  to  Frederick,  “ Tc 
tell  you  the  truth,  I for  my  part  don’t  know  for  what 
master  I shall  work  ; I have  no  acquaintances  here  at 
all  ; and  I thought  you  would  perhaps  take  me  along 
with  you  to  Master  Martin’s,  brother  ? Perhaps  I may 
get  taken  on  by  him.”  “You  remove  a heavy  load 
from  my  heart,”  replied  Frederick,  “ for  if  you  will  only 
stay  with  me,  it  will  be  easier  for  me  to  conquer  my  anx- 
iety and  nervousness.”  And  so  the  two  young  appren- 
tices trudged  sturdily  on  to  the  house  of  the  famed 
cooper,  Master  Martin. 

It  happened  to  be  the  very  Sunday  on  which  Master 
Martin  gave  his  feast  in  honour  of  his  election  as 
“ Candle-master ; ” and  the  two  arrived  just  as  they 
were  partaking  of  the  good  cheer.  So  it  was  that  as 
Reinhold  and  Frederick  entered  into  Master  Martin’s 
house  they  heard  the  ringing  of  glasses  and  the  con- 
fused buzz  and  rattle  of  a merry  company  at  a feast. 
“Oh!”  said  Frederick  quite  cast  down,  “we  have,  it 
seems,  come  at  an  unseasonable  time.”  “Nay,  I think 
we  have  come  exactly  at  the  right  time,”  replied  Rein- 
hold, “for  Master  Martin  is  sure  to  be  in  good  humour 
after  a good  feast,  and  well  disposed  to  grant  our  wishes.” 
They  caused  their  arrival  to  be  announced  to  Master 
Martin,  and  soon  he  appeared  in  the  entrance-passage, 
dressed  in  holiday  garb  and  with  no  small  amount  of 
colour  in  his  nose  and  on  his  cheeks.  On  catching 
sight  of  Frederick  he  cried,  “ Holla  ! Frederick,  my 
good  lad,  have  you  come  home  again  ? That’s  fine  ! 
And  so  you  have  taken  up  the  best  of  all  trades — coop- 
erage. Herr  Holzschuer  cuts  confounded  wry  faces 
when  your  name  is  mentioned,  and  says  a great  artist 
is  ruined  in  you,  and  that  you  could  have  cast  little 
images  and  espaliers  as  fine  as  those  in  St.  Sebald’s  or 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


io3 


on  Fugger’s  1 house  at  Augsburg.  But  that’s  all  non- 
sense ; you  have  done  quite  right  to  step  across  the  way 
here.  Welcome,  lad,  welcome  with  all  my  heart.”  And 
therewith  Herr  Martin  took  him  by  the  shoulders  and 
drew  him  to  his  bosom,  as  was  his  wont,  thoroughly 
well  pleased.  This  kind  reception  by  Master  Martin 
infused  new  spirits  into  Frederick  ; all  his  nervousness 
left  him,  so  that  unhesitatingly  and  without  constraint 
he  was  able  not  only  to  prefer  his  own  request  but  also 
warmly  to  recommend  Reinhold.  “ Well,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,”  said  Master  Martin,  “ you  could  not  have 
come  at  a more  fortunate  time  than  just  now,  for  work 
keeps  increasing  and  I am  bankrupt  of  workmen.  You 
are  both  heartily  welcome.  Put  your  bundles  down 
and  come  in  ; our  meal  is  indeed  almost  finished,  but 
you  can  come  and  take  your  seats  at  the  table,  and 
Rose  shall  look  after  you  and  get  you  something.”  And 
Master  Martin  and  the  two  journeymen  went  into  the 
room.  There  sat  the  honest  masters,  the  worthy  syndic 
Jacobus  Paumgartner  at  tfteir  head,  all  with  hot  red 
faces.  Dessert  was  being  served,  and  a better  brand  of 
wine  was  sparkling  in  the  glasses.  Every  master  was 
talking  about  something  different  from  all  his  neigh- 
bours and  in  a loud  voice,  and  yet  they  all  thought  they 
understood  each  other  ; and  now  and  again  some  of 
them  burst  out  in  a hearty  laugh  without  exactly  know- 
ing why.  When,  however,  Master  Martin  came  back, 
leading  the  two  young  men  by  the  hand,  and  announced 
aloud  that  he  brought  two  journeymen  who  had  come 
to  him  well  provided  with  testimonials  just  at  the  time 
he  wanted  them,  then  all  grew  silent,  each  master  scru- 

1 The  family  of  Fugger,  which  rose  from  the  position  of  poor 
weavers  to  be  the  richest  merchant  princes  in  Augsburg,  decorated 
their  house  with  frescoes  externally,  like  so  many  other  old  German 
families. 


104 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


tinising  the  smart  young  fellows  with  a smile  of  com- 
fortable satisfaction,  whilst  Frederick  cast  his  eyes  down 
and  twisted  his  baretta  about  in  his  hands.  Master 
Martin  directed  the  youths  to  places  at  the  very  bottom 
of  the  table  ; but  these  were  soon  the  very  best  of  all, 
for  Rose  came  and  took  her  seat  between  the  two,  and 
served  them  attentively  both  with  dainty  dishes  and 
with  good  rich  wine.  There  was  Rose,  a most  winsome 
picture  of  grace  and  loveliness,  seated  between  the  two 
handsome  youths,  all  in  midst  of  the  bearded  old  men 
— it  was  a right  pleasant  sight  to  see  ; the  mind  in- 
stantly recalled  a bight  morning  cloud  rising  solitary 
above  the  dim  dark  horizon,  or  beautiful  spring  flow- 
ers lifting  up  their  bright  heads  from  amidst  the  uni- 
form colourless  grass.  Frederick  was  so  very  happy  and 
so  very  delighted  that  his  breath  almost  failed  him  for 
joy  ; and  only  now  and  again  did  he  venture  to  steal  a 
glance  at  her  who  filled  his  heart  so  fully.  His  eyes 
were  fixedly  bent  upon  his  plate  ; how  could  he  possi- 
bly dream  of  eating  the  least  morsel  ? Reinhold,  on 
the  other  hand,  could  not  turn  his  sparkling,  radiant 
eyes  away  from  the  lovely  maiden.  He  began  to  talk 
about  his  long  journeys  in  such  a wonderful  way  that 
Rose  had  never  heard  anything  like  it.  She  seemed  to 
see  everything  of  which  he  spoke  rise  up  vividly  before 
her  in  manifold  ever-changing  forms.  She  was  all  eyes 
and  ears  ; and  when  Reinhold,  carried  away  by  the  fire 
of  his  own  words,  grasped  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to 
his  heart,  she  didn’t  know  where  she  was.  “ But  bless 
me,”  broke  off  Reinhold  all  at  once,  “why,  Frederick, 
you  are  quite  silent  and  still.  Have  you  lost  your 
tongue  ? Come,  let  us  drink  to  the  weal  of  the  lovely 
maiden  who  has  so  hospitably  entertained  us.”  With 
a trembling  hand  Frederick  seized  the  huge  drinking- 
glass  that  Reinhold  had  filled  to  the  brim  and  now  in- 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


l°5 

sisted  on  his  draining  to  the  last  drop.  “ Now  here’s 
long  life  to  our  excellent  master,”  cried  Reinhold,  again 
filling  the  glasses  and  again  compelling  Frederick  to 
empty  his.  Then  the  fiery  juices  of  the  wine  permeated 
his  veins  and  stirred  up  his  stagnant  blood  until  it 
coursed  as  it  were  triumphantly  through  his  every  limb. 
“ Oh  ! I feel  so  indescribably  happy,”  he  whispered, 
the  burning  blushes  mounting  into  his  cheeks.  “ Oh  ! 
I have  never  felt  so  happy  in  all  my  life  before.”  Rose, 
who  undoubtedly  gave  another  interpretation  to  his 
words,  smiled  upon  him  with  incomparable  gentleness. 
Then,  quit  of  all  his  embarrassing  shyness,  Frederick 
said,  “ Dear  Rose,  I suppose  you  no  longer  remember 
me,  do  you  ? ” “ But,  dear  Frederick,”  replied  Rose, 

casting  down  her  eyes,  “ how  qould  I possibly  forget 
you  in  so  short  a time  ? When  you  were  at  Flerr  Holz- 
schuer’s — true,  I was  only  a mere  child  then,  yet  you 
did  not  disdain  to  play  with  me,  and  always  had  some- 
thing nice  and  pretty  to  talk  about.  And  that  dear 
little  basket  made  of  fine  silver  wire  that  you  gave  me 
at  Christmas-time,  I’ve  got  it  still,  and  I take  care  of  it 
and  keep  it  as  a precious  memento.”  Frederick  was 
intoxicated  with  delight  and  tears  glittered  in  his  eyes. 
He  tried  to  speak,  but  there  only  burst  from  his  breast, 
like  a deep  sigh,  the  words,  “ O Rose — dear,  dear  Rose.” 
“ I have  always  really  from  my  heart  longed  to  see  you 
again,”  went  on  Rose  ; “ but  that  you  would  become  a 
cooper,  that  I never  for  a moment  dreamed.  Oh  ! when 
I call  to  mind  the  beautiful  things  that  you  made  whilst 
you  were  with  Master  Holzschuer — oh  ! it  really  is  a 
pity  that  you  have  not  stuck  to  your  art.”  “ O Rose,” 
said  Frederick,  “it  is  only  for  your  sake  that  I have 
become  unfaithful  to  it.”  No  sooner  had  he  uttered 
these  words  than  he  could  have  sunk  into  the  earth  for 
shame  and  confusion.  He  had  most  thoughtlessly  let 


io6 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


the  confession  slip  over  his  lips.  Rose,  as  if  divining 
all,  turned  her  face  away  from  him  ; whilst  he  in  vain 
struggled  for  words. 

Then  Herr  Paumgartner  struck  the  table  a bang 
with  his  knife,  and  announced  to  the  company  that 
Herr  Vollrad,  a worthy  Meistersinger ,*  would  favour 
them  with  a song.  Herr  Vollrad  at  once  rose  to  his 
feet,  cleared  his  throat,  and  sang  such  an  excellent 
song  in  the  Giildne  Tonweis1 2  3 of  Herr  Vogelgesang 
that  everybody’s  heart  leapt  with  joy,  and  even  Fred- 
erick recovered  himself  from  his  awkward  embarrass- 
ment again.  After  Herr  Vollrad  had  sung  several 

1 During  the  fourteenth,  fifteenth,  and  sixteenth  centuries  there  ex- 
isted in  many  German  towns  (Nuremberg,  Frankfort,  Strasburg,  Ulm, 
Mayence,  &c.)  associations  or  guild-like  corporations  of  burghers,  the 
object  of  which  was  the  cultivation  of  song  in  the  same  systematic  way 
that  the  mechanical  arts  were  practised.  They  framed  strict  and  well- 
defined  codes  of  rules  ( Tablatures ) by  means  of  which  they  tested  a 
singer’s  capabilities.  As  the  chief  aims  which  they  set  before  them- 
selves were  the  invention  of  new  tunes  or  melodies,  and  also  songs 
(words),  it  resulted  that  they  fell  into  the  inevitable  vice  of  cold  for- 
malism, and  banished  the  true  spirit  of  poetry  by  their  many  arbitrary 
rules  about  rhyme,  measure,  and  melody,  and  the  dry  business-like 
manner  in  which  they  worked.  The  guild  or  company  generally  con- 
sisted of  five  distinct  grades,  the  ultimate  one  being  that  of  master,  en- 
trance into  which  was  only  permitted  to  the  man  who  had  invented  a 
new  melody  or  tune,  and  had  sung  it  in  public  without  offending 
against  any  of  the  laws  of  the  Tablature.  The  subjects,  which,  as 
the  singers  were  honest  burghers,  could  not  be  taken  from  topics  in 
which  chivalric  life  took  any  interest,  were  mostly  restricted  to  fables, 
legendary  lore,  and  consisted  very  largely  of  Biblical  narratives  and 
passages. 

2 These  words  are  the  names  of  various  “tunes,”  and  signified  in 
each  case  a particular  metre,  rhyme,  melody,  &c.,  so  that  each  was  a 
brief  definition  of  a number  of  individual  items,  so  to  speak.  These 
Meistersinger  technical  terms  (or  slang?)  are  therefore  not  translat- 

able, nor  could  they  be  made  intelligible  by  paraphrase,  even  if  thil 
requisite  information  for  each  instance  were  at  hand. 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


107 


other  excellent  songs  to  several  other  excellent  tunes, 
such  as  the  Süsser  Ton,  the  Krummzinkenweis , the  Ge- 
blümte Paradiesweis,  the  Frisch  Pomeranzenweis , &c.,  he 
called  upon  any  one  else  at  the  table  who  understood 
anything  of  the  sweet  and  delectable  art  of  the  Meister- 
singer also  to  honour  them  with  a song.  Then  Reinhold 
rose  to  his  feet  and  said  that  if  he  might  be  allowed  to 
accompany  himself  on  his  lute  in  the  Italian  fashion  he 
would  give  them  a song,  keeping,  however,  strictly  to 
the  German  tune.  As  nobody  had  any  objection  he 
fetched  his  instrument,  and,  after  a little  tuneful  pre- 
lude, began  the  following  song  : — 

Where  is  the  little  fount 
Where  sparkles  the  spicy  wine  ? 

From  forth  its  golden  depths 

Its  golden  sparkles  mount 

And  dance  ’fore  the  gladdened  eye. 

This  beautiful  little  fount 
Wherein  the  golden  wine 
Sparkles — who  made  it, 

With  thoughtful  skill  and  fine, 

With  such  high  art  and  industry, 

That  praise  deserve  so  well  ? 

This  little  fount  so  gay, 

Wrought  with  high  art  and  fine, 

Was  fashioned  by  one 
Who  ne’er  an  artist  was — 

But  a brave  young  cooper  he, 

His  veins  with  rich  wine  glowing, 

His  heart  with  true  love  singing, 

And  ever  lovingly — 

For  that’s  young  cooper’s  way 
In  all  the  things  he  does. 

This  song  pleased  them  all  down  to  the  ground,  but 
none  more  so  than  Master  Martin,  whose  eyes  sparkled 
with  pleasure  and  delight.  Without  heeding  Vollrad, 
who  had  almost  too  much  to  say  about  Hans  Miiller’s 


io8 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


Stumpfe  Schossweis , which  the  youth  had  caught  excel- 
lently well, — Master  Martin,  without  heeding  him,  rose 
from  his  seat,  and,  lifting  his  passglas1  above  his  head, 
called  aloud,  “ Come  here,  honest  cooper  and  Meister- 
singer, come  here  and  drain  this  glass  with  me,  your 
Master  Martin.”  Reinhold  had  to  do  as  he  was  bidden. 
Returning  to  his  place,  he  whispered  into  Frederick’s 
ear,  who  was  looking  very  pensive,  “Now,  you  must 
sing — sing  the  song  you  sang  last  night.”  “ Are  you 
mad?”  asked  Frederick,  quite  angry.  But  Reinhold 
turned  to  the  company  and  said  in  a loud  voice,  “ My 
honoured  gentlemen  and  masters,  my  dear  brother  Fred- 
erick here  can  sing  far  finer  songs,  and  has  a much 
pleasanter  voice  than  I have,  but  his  throat  has  got  full 
of  dust  from  his  travels,  and  he  will  treat  you  to  some 
of  his  songs  another  time,  and  then  to  the  most  admi- 
rable tunes.”  And  they  all  began  to  shower  down  their 
praises  upon  Frederick,  as  if  he  had  already  sung.  In- 
deed, in  the  end,  more  than  one  of  the  masters  was  of 
opinion  that  his  voice  was  really  more  agreeable  than 
journeyman  Reinhold's,  and  Herr  Vollrad  also,  after  he 
had  drunk  another  glass,  was  convinced  that  Frederick 
could  use  the  beautiful  German  tunes  far  better  than 
Reinhold,  for  the  latter  had  too  much  of  the  Italian 
style  about  him.  And  Master  Martin,  throwing  his 
head  back  into  his  neck,  and  giving  his  round  belly  a 
hearty  slap,  cried,  “ Those  are  my  journeymen,  my 
journeymen,  I tell  you — mine,  master-cooper  Tobias 
Martin’s  of  Nuremberg.”  And  all  the  other  masters 
nodded  their  heads  in  assent,  and,  sipping  the  last 
drops  out  of  the  bottom  of  their  tall  glasses,  said,  “Yes, 

1 A glass  divided  by  means  of  marks  placed  at  intervals  from  top  to 
bottom.  It  was  usual  for  one  who  was  invited  to  drink  to  drink  out 
of  the  challenger’s  glass  down  to  the  mark  next  below  the  top  of  the 
liquid. 


MASTES?  MARTIN. 


109 


yes.  Your  brave,  honest  journeymen,  Master  Martin — 
that  they  are.”  At  length  it  was  time  to  retire  to  rest. 
Master  Martin  led  Reinhold  and  Frederick  each  into  a 
bright  cheerful  room  in  his  own  house. 

How  the  third  journeyman  came  i)ito  Master  Martin's  house , 
and  what  followed  in  consequence. 

After  the  two  journeymen  had  worked  for  some 
weeks  in  Master  Martin’s  workshop,  he  perceived  that 
in  all  that  concerned  measurement  with  rule  and  com- 
pass, and  calculation,  and  estimation  of  measure  and 
size  by  eyesight,  Reinhold  could  hardly  find  his  match, 
but  it  was  a different  thing  when  it  came  to  hard  work 
at  the  bench  or  with  the  adze  or  the  mallet.  Then 
Reinhold  soon  grew  tired,  and  the  work  did  not  pro- 
gress, no  matter  how  great  efforts  he  might  make.  On 
the  other  hand,  Frederick  planed  and  hammered  away 
without  growing  particularly  tired.  But  one  thing 
they  had  in  common  with  each  other,  and  that  was 
their  well-mannered  behaviour,  marked,  principally  at 
Reinhold’s  instance,  by  much  natural  cheerfulness  and 
good-natured  enjoyment.  Besides,  even  when  hard  at 
work,  they  did  not  spare  their  throats,  especially  when 
pretty  Rose  was  present,  but  sang  many  an  excellent 
song,  their  pleasant  voices  harmonising  well  together. 
And  whenever  Frederick,  glancing  shyly  across  at 
Rose,  seemed  to  be  falling  into  his  melancholy  mood, 
Reinhold  at  once  struck  up  a satirical  song  that  he 
composed,  beginning,  “The  cask  is  not  the  cither,  nor 
is  the  cither  the  cask,”  so  that  old  Herr  Martin  often 
had  to  let  the  croze-adze  which  he  had  raised,  sink 
again  without  striking  and  hold  his  big  belly  as  it 
wabbled  from  his  internal  laughter.  Above  all,  the 
two  journeymen,  and  mainly  Reinhold,  had  completely 
won  their  way  into  Martin’s  favour;  and  it  was  not  diffi- 


no 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


cult  to  observe  that  Rose  found  a good  many  pretexts 
for  lingering  oftener  and  longer  in  the  workshop  than 
she  certainly  otherwise  would  have  done. 

One  day  Master  Martin  entered  his  open  workshop 
outside  the  town-gate,  where  work  was  carried  on  all 
the  summer  through,  with  his  brow  weighted  with 
thought.  Reinhold  and  Frederick  were  in  the  act  of 
setting  up  a small  cask.  Then  Master  Martin  planted 
himself  before  them  with  his  arms  crossed  over  his 
chest  and  said,  “ I can’t  tell  you  how  pleased  I am 
with  you,  my  good  journeymen,  but  I am  just  now  in 
a great  difficulty.  They  write  me  from  the  Rhine 
that  this  will  be  a more  prosperous  wine-year  than 
there  ever  has  been  before.  A learned  man  says  that 
the  comet  which  has  been  seen  in  the  heavens  will 
fructify  the  earth  with  its  wonderful  tail,  so  that  the 
glowing  heat  which  fabricates  the  precious  metals 
down  in  the  deepest  mines  will  all  stream  upwards  and 
evaporate  into  the  thirsty  vines,  till  they  prosper  and 
thrive  and  put  forth  multitudes  of  grapes,  and  the 
liquid  fire  with  which  they  are  filled  will  be  poured  out 
into  the  grapes.  It  will  be  almost  three  hundred 
years  before  such  a favourable  constellation  occurs 
again.  So  now  we  shall  all  have  our  hands  full  of 
work.  And  then  there’s  his  Lordship  the  Bishop  of 
Bamberg  has  written  to  me  and  ordered  a large  cask. 
That  we  can’t  get  done ; and  I shall  have  to  look 
about  for  another  useful  journeyman.  Now  I should 
not  like  to  take  the  first  fellow  I meet  off  the  street 
amongst  us,  and  yet  the  matter  is  very  urgent.  If  you 
know  of  a good  journeyman  anywhere  whom  you 
would  be  willing  to  work  with,  you  have  only  to  tell 
me,  and  I will  get  him  here,  even  though  it  should  cost 
me  a good  sum  of  money.” 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


ui 


Hardly  had  Master  Martin  finished  speaking  when  a 
young  man,  tall  and  stalwart,  shouted  to  him  in  a 
loud  voice,  “ Hi  ! you  there  ! is  this  Master  Martin’s 
workshop  ? ” “ Certainly,”  replied  Master  Martin, 

going  towards  the  young  man,  “certainly  it  is;  but 
you  needn’t  shout  so  deuced  loud  and  lumber  in  like 
that;  that's  not  the  way  to  find  people.”  “Ha!  ha! 
ha  ! ” laughed  the  young  fellow,  “ marry,  you  are 
Master  Martin  himself,  for — fat  belly — stately  double- 
chin— sparkling  eyes,  and  red  nose — yes,  that’s  just 
how  he  was  described  to  me.  I bid  you  good  hail, 
Master  Martin.”  “ Well,  and  what  do  you  want  from 
Master  Martin  ? ” he  asked,  indignantly.  The  young 
fellow  replied,  “ I am  a journeyman  cooper,  and  merely 
wanted  to  ask  if  I could  find  work  with  you.”  Marvel- 
ling that  just  as  he  was  thinking  about  looking  out  for 
a journeyman  one  should  come  to  him  like  this,  Master 
Martin  drew  back  a few  paces  and  eyed  the  young  man 
from  head  to  foot.  He,  however,  met  the  scrutiny  un- 
abashed and  with  sparkling  eyes.  Noting  his  broad 
chest,  stalwart  build,  and  powerful  arms,  Master  Martin 
thought  within  himself,  it’s  just  such  a lusty  fellow  as 
this  that  I want,  and  he  at  once  asked  him  for  his  trade 
testimonials.1  “I  haven’t  them  with  me  just  at  this 
present  moment,”  replied  the  young  man,  “ but  I will 
get  them  in  a short  time  ; and  I give  you  now  my  word 
of  honour  that  I will  work  well  and  honestly,  and  that 
must  suffice  you.”  Thereupon,  without  waiting  for 
Master  Martin’s  reply,  the  young  journeyman  stepped 
into  the  workshop.  He  threw  down  his  baretta  and 

1 These  would  consist  of  the  certificate  of  his  admission  into  the 
ranks  of  the  journeymen  of  the  guild,  of  the  certificates  of  proper  dis- 
missal signed  by  the  various  masters  for  whom  he  had  worked  whilst 
on  travel,  together  with  testimonials  of  good  conduct  from  the  same 
masters. 


1 1 2 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


bundle,  took  off  his  doublet,  put  on  his  apron,  and 
said,  “Come,  Master  Martin,  tell  me  at  once  what  I am 
to  begin  with.”  Master  Martin,  completely  taken 
aback  by  the  young  stranger’s  resolute  vigour  and 
promptitude,  had  to  think  a little  ; then  he  said,  “ Come 
then,  my  fine  fellow,  and  show  me  at  once  that  you  are 
a good  cooper  ; take  this  croze-adze  and  finish  the 
groove  of  that  cask  lying  in  the  vice  yonder.”  The 
stranger  performed  what  he  had  been  bidden  with  re- 
markable strength,  quickness,  and  skill  ; and  then  he 
cried,  laughing  loudly,  “ Now,  Master  Martin,  have 
you  any  doubts  now  as  to  my  being  a good  cooper  ? 
But,”  he  continued,  going  backwards  and  forwards 
through  the  shop,  and  examining  the  instruments  and 
tools,  and  supply  of  wood,  “ but  though  you  are  well 
supplied  with  useful  stores  and — but  what  do  you  call 
this  little  thing  of  a mallet  ? I suppose  it’s  for  your 
children  to  play  with  ; and  this  little  adze  here — why 
it  must  be  for  your  apprentices  when  they  first  begin,” 
and  he  swung  round  his  head  the  huge  heavy  mallet 
which  Reinhold  could  not  lift  and  which  Frederick  had 
great  difficulty  in  wielding  ; and  then  he  did  the  same 
with  the  ponderous  adze  with  which  Master  Martin 
himself  worked.  Then  he  rolled  a couple  of  huge 
casks  on  one  side  as  if  they  had  been  light  balls,  and 
seized  one  of  the  large  thick  beams  which  had  not  yet 
been  worked  at.  “ Marry,  master,”  he  cried,  “ marry, 
this  is  good  sound  oak  ; I wager  it  will  snap  like  glass.” 
And  thereupon  he  struck  the  stave  against  the  grind- 
stone so  that  it  broke  clean  in  half  with  a loud  crack. 
“ Pray  be  so  kind,”  said  Master  Martin,  “pray  have  the 
kindness,  my  good  fellow,  to  kick  that  two-tun  cask 
about  or  to  pull  down  the  whole  shop.  There,  you  can 
take  that  balk  for  a mallet,  and  that  you  may  have  an 
adze  to  your  mind  I will  have  Roland’s  sword,  which  is 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


”3 


three  yards  long,  fetched  for  you  from  the  town-house.” 
“Ay,  do,  that’s  just  the  thing,”  said  the  young  man,  his 
eyes  flashing ; but  the  next  minute  he  cast  them  down 
upon  the  ground  and  said,  lowering  his  voice,  “ I only 
thought,  good  master,  that  you  wanted  right  strong 
journeymen  for  your  heavy  work,  and  now  I have,  I 
see,  been  too  forward,  too  swaggering,  in  displaying 
1 ' v bodily  strength.  But  do  take  me  on  to  work,  I 
ill  faithfully  do  whatever  you  shall  require  of  me.” 
master  Martin  scanned  the  youth’s  features,  and  could 
not  but  admit  that  he  had  never  seen  more  nobility  and 
at  the  same  time  more  downright  honesty  in  any  man’s 
face.  And  yet,  as  he  looked  upon  the  young  fellow, 
there  stole  into  his  mind  a dim  recollection  of  some 
man  whom  he  had  long  esteemed  and  honoured,  but  he 
could  not  clearly  call  to  mind  who  it  was.  For  this 
reason  he  granted  the  young  man’s  request  on  the  spot, 
only  enjoining  upon  him  to  produce  at  the  earliest 
opportunity  the  needful  credible  trade  attestations. 

Meanwhile  Reinhold  and  Frederick  had  finished  set- 
ting up  their  cask  and  were  now  busy  driving  on  the 
first  hoops.  Whilst  doing  this  they  were  always  in  the 
habit  of  striking  up  a song  ; and  on  this  occasion  they 
began  a good  song  in  Adam  Puschmann’s  Stieglitzweis. 
Then  Conrad  (that  was  the  name  of  the  new  journey- 
man) shouted  across  from  the  bench  where  Master 
Martin  had  placed  him,  “ By  my  troth,  what  squalling 
do  you  call  that  ? I could  fancy  I hear  mice  squeaking 
somewhere  about  the  shop.  An  you  mean  to  sing  at 
all,  sing  so  that  it  will  cheer  the  heart  and  make  the 
work  go  down  well.  That’s  how  I sing  a bit  now  and 
again.”  And  he  began  to  bellow  out  a noisy  hunting 
ditty  with  its  hollas!  and  hoy,  boys!  and  he  imitated 
the  yelping  of  the  hounds  and  the  shrill  shouts  of  the 
hunters  in  such  a clear,  keen,  stentorian  voice  that  the 
Vol.  II.— 8 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


114 

huge  casks  rang  again  and  all  the  workshop  echoed. 
Master  Martin  held  his  hands  over  his  ears,  and  Dame 
Martha’s  (Valentine’s  widow)  little  boys,  who  were 
playing  in  the  shop,  crept  timorously  behind  the  piled- 
up  staves.  ' Just  at  this  moment  Rose  came  in,  amazed, 
nay,  frightened  at  the  terrible  noise  ; it  could  not  be 
called  singing  anyhow.  As  soon  as  Conrad  observed 
her,  he  at  once  stopped,  and  leaving  his  bench  he 
approached  her  and  greeted  her  with  the  most  polished 
grace.  Then  he  said  in  a gentle  voice,  whilst  an  ardent 
fire  gleamed  in  his  bright  brown  eyes,  “Lovely  lady, 
what  a sweet  rosy  light  shone  into  this  humble  work- 
man’s hut  when  you  came  in!  Oh  ! had  I but  perceived 
you  sooner,  I had  not  outraged  your  tender  ears  with 
my  wild  hunting  ditty.”  Then,  turning  to  Master 
Martin  and  the  other  journeymen,  he  cried,  “ Oh  ! do 
stop  your  abominable  knocking  and  rattling.  As  long 
as  this  gracious  lady  honours  us  with  her  presence,  let 
mallets  and  drivers  rest.  Let  us  only  listen  to  her 
sweet  voice,  and  with  bowed  head  hearken  to  what  she 
may  command  us,  her  humble  servants.”  Reinhold 
and  Frederick  looked  at  each  other  utterly  amazed  ; 
but  Master  Martin  burst  out  laughing  and  said,  “Well, 
Conrad,  it  is  now  plain  that  you  are  the  most  ridiculous 
donkey  who  ever  put  on  apron.  First  you  come  here 
and  want  to  break  everything  to  pieces  like  an  uncul- 
tivated giant ; then  you  bellow  in  such  a way  as  to 
make  our  ears  tingle  ; and,  as  a fitting  climax  to  all 
your  foolishness,  you  take  my  little  daughter  Rose  for 
a lady  of  rank  and  act  like  a love-smitten  Junker.” 
Conrad  replied,  coolly,  “Your  lovely  daughter  I know 
very  well,  my  worthy  Master  Martin  ; but  I tell  you 
that  she  is  the  most  peerless  lady  who  treads  the  earth, 
and  if  Heaven  grant  it  she  would  honour  the  very 
noblest  of  Junkers  by  permitting  him  to  be  her  Paladin 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


115 

in  faithful  knightly  love.”  Master  Martin  held  his 
sides,  and  it  was  only  by  giving  vent  to  his  laughter  in 
hums  and  haws  that  he  prevented  himself  from  chok- 
ing. As  soon  as  he  could  at  all  speak,  he  stammered, 
“ Good,  very  good,  my  most  excellent  youth  ; you  may 
continue  to  regard  my  daughter  as  a lady  of  high  rank, 
I shall  not  hinder  you  ; but,  irrespective  of  that,  will 
you  have  the  goodness  to  go  back  to  your  bench?” 
Conrad  stood  as  if  spell-bound,  his  eyes  cast  down 
upon  the  ground  ; and  rubbing  his  forehead,  he  said  in 
a low  voice,  “Ay,  it  is  so,”  and  did  as  he  was  bidden. 
Rose,  as  she  always  did  in  the  shop,  sat  down  upon  a 
small  cask,  which  Frederick  placed  for  her,  and  which 
Reinhold  carefully  dusted.  At  Master  Martin’s  express 
desire  they  again  struck  up  the  admirable  song  in 
which  they  had  been  so  rudely  interrupted  by  Conrad’s 
bluster  ; but  he  went  on  with  his  work  at  the  bench, 
quite  still,  and  entirely  wrapped  up  in  his  own  thoughts. 

When  the  song  came  to  an  end  Master  Martin  said, 
“ Heaven  has  endowed  you  with  a noble  gift,  my 
brave  lads  ; you  would  not  believe  how  highly  I value 
the  delectable  art  of  song.  Why,  once  I wanted  to 
be  a Meistersinger  myself,  but  I could  not  manage  it, 
even  though  I tried  all  I knew  how.  All  that  I gained 
by  my  efforts  was  ridicule  and  mockery.  In  ‘Volun- 
tary Singing’  1 I either  got  into  false  ‘ appendages,’ 

1 On  these  great  singing  days,  generally  on  Sundays  in  the  churches, 
and  on  special  occasions  in  the  town-house,  the  “performances”  con- 
sisted of  three  parts.  1.  First  came  a “Voluntary  Solo-Singing,”  in 
which  anybody,  even  a stranger,  might  participate,  no  contest  being 
entered  into,  and  no  rewards  given.  2.  This  was  followed  by  a song 
by  all  the  masters  in  chorus.  3.  Then  came  the  “Principal  Singing,” 
the  chief  “event”  of  the  day — the  actual  singing  contest.  Four  judges 
were  appointed  to  examine  those  who  successively  presented  themselves, 
being  guided  by  the  strict  laws  and  regulations  of  the  Tablatures. 
Those  who  violated  these  laws,  that  is,  who  made  mistakes,  had  to 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


x 1 6 

or  ‘double  notes,’  or  a wrong  ‘measure,’  or  an  unsuit- 
able ‘embellishment,’  or  started  the  wrong  melody 
altogether.  But  you  will  succeed  better,  and  it  shall 
be  said,  what  the  master  can’t  do,  his  journeymen  can. 
Next  Sunday  after  the  sermon  there  will  be  a singing 
contest  by  the  Meistersinger  at  the  usual  time  in  St. 
Catherine’s  Church.  But  before  the  ‘ Principal  Sing- 
ing’ there  will  be  a ‘Voluntary,’  in  which  you  may 
both  of  you  win  praise  and  honour  in  your  beautiful 
art,  for  any  stranger  who  can  sing  at  all,  may  freely 
take  part  in  this.  And,  he  ! Conrad,  my  journeyman 
Conrad,”  cried  Master  Martin  across  to  the  bench, 
“would  not  you  also  like  to  get  into  the  singing-desk 
and  treat  our  good  folk  to  your  fine  hunting-chorus  ?” 
Without  looking  up,  Conrad  replied,  “ Mock  not,  good 
master,  mock  not  ; everything  in  its  place.  Whilst 
you  are  being  edified  by  the  Meistersinger , I shall  en- 
joy myself  in  my  own  way  on  the  Allerwiese.” 

And  what  Master  Martin  anticipated  came  to  pass. 
Reinhold  got  into  the  singing-desk  and  sang  divers 
songs  to  divers  tunes,  with  which  all  the  Meistersingers 
were  well  pleased  ; and  although  they  were  of  opinion 
that  the  singer  had  not  made  any  mistake,  yet  they 
had  a slight  objection  to  urge  against  him — a sort  of 
something  foreign  about  his  style,  but  yet  they  could 
not  say  exactly  in  what  it  consisted.  Soon  afterwards 
Frederick  took  his  seat  in  the  singing-desk  ; and  doffing 
his  baretta,  he  stood  some  seconds  looking  silently 
before  him  ; then  after  sending  a glance  at  the  audi- 
ence which  entered  lovely  Rose’s  bosom  like  a burning 
arrow,  and  caused  her  to  fetch  a deep  sigh,  he  began 


leave  the  singing-desk  ; the  successful  ones  were,  however,  crowned 
with  wreaths,  and  had  earned  the  right  to  act  themselves  as  judges  on 
future  occasions. 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


117 

such  a splendid  song  in  Heinrich  Frauenlob’s  1 Zarter 
Ton,  that  all  the  masters  agreed  with  one  accord  there 
was  none  amongst  them  who  could  surpass  the  young 
journeyman. 

The  singing-school  came  to  an  end  towards  evening, 
and  Master  Martin,  in  order  to  finish  off  the  day’s 
enjoyment  in  proper  style,  betook  himself  in  high 
good-humour  to  the  Allerwiese  along  with  Rose.  The 
two  journeymen,  Reinhold  and  Frederick,  were  per- 
mitted to  accompany  them  ; Rose  was  walking  between 
them.  Frederick,  radiant  with  delight  at  the  masters’ 
praise,  and  intoxicated  with  happiness,  ventured  to 
breathe  many  a daring  word  in  Rose’s  ear  which  she, 
however,  casting  down  her  eyes  in  maidenly  coyness, 
pretended  not  to  hear.  Rather  she  turned  to  Rein- 
hold, who,  according  to  his  wont,  was  running  on  with 
all  sorts  of  merry  nonsense  ; nor  did  he  hesitate  to 
place  his  arm  in  Rose’s.  Whilst  even  at  a consider- 
able distance  from  the  Allerwiese  they  could  hear 
noisy  shouts  and  cries.  Arrived  at  the  place  where 
the  young  men  were  amusing  themselves  in  all  kinds 
of  games,  partly  chivalric,  they  heard  the  crowd  shout 
time  after  time,  “ Won  again  ! won  again  ! He’s  the 
strongest  again  ! Nobody  can  compete  with  him.” 
Master  Martin,  on  working  his  way  through  the  crowd, 
perceived  that  it  was  nobody  else  but  his  journeyman 
Conrad  who  was  reaping  all  this  praise  and  exciting 
the  people  to  all  this  applause.  He  had  beaten  every- 
body in  racing  and  boxing  and  throwing  the  spear.  As 
Martin  came  up,  Conrad  was  shouting  out  and  inquir- 
ing if  there  was  anybody  who  would  have  a merry  bout 

1 Heinrich  von  Meissen,  called  Frauenlob  (died  1318;,  after  having 
lived  at  various  courts  in  both  the  north  and  the  south  of  Germany, 
settled  at  Mayence  and  gathered  together  (1311)  a school  or  society  of 
burgher  singers. 


1 1 8 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


with  him  with  blunt  swords.  This  challenge  several 
stout  young  patricians,  well  accustomed  to  this  species 
of  pastime,  stepped  forward  and  accepted.  But  it  was 
not  long  before  Conrad  had  again,  without  much 
trouble  or  exertion,  overcome  all  his  opponents  ; and 
the  applause  at  his  skill  and  strength  seemed  as  if  it 
would  never  end. 

The  sun  had  set  ; the  last  glow  of  evening  died 
away,  and  twilight  began  to  creep  on  apace.  Master 
Martin,  with  Rose  and  the  two  journeymen,  had 
thrown  themselves  down  beside  a babbling  spring  of 
water.  Reinhold  was  telling  of  the  wonders  of  distant 
Italy,  but  Frederick,  quiet  and  happy,  had  his  eyes 
fixed  on  pretty  Rose’s  face.  Then  Conrad  drew  near 
with  slow  hesitating  steps,  as  if  rather  undecided  in 
his  own  mind  whether  he  should  join  them  or  not. 
Master  Martin  called  to  him,  “ Come  along,  Conrad, 
come  along,  come  along  ; you  have  borne  yourself 
bravely  on  the  meadow  ; that’s  what  I like  in  my 
journeymen,  and  it’s  what  becomes  them.  Don’t  be 
shy,  lad  ; come  and  join  us,  you  have  my  permission.” 
» Conrad  cast  a withering  glance  at  his  master,  who 
however  met  it  with  a condescending  nod  ; then  the 
young  journeyman  said  moodily,  “ I am  not  the  least 
bit  shy  of  you,  and  I have  not  asked  your  permission 
whether  I may  lie  down  here  or  not, — in  fact,  I have 
not  come  to  you  at  all.  All  my  opponents  I have 
stretched  in  the  sand  in  the  merry  knightly  sports,  and 
all  I now  wanted  was  to  ask  this  lovely  lady  whether 
she  would  not  honour  me  with  the  beautiful  flowers 
she  wears  in  her  bosom,  as  the  prize  of  the  chivalric 
contest.”  Therewith  he  dropped  upon  one  knee  in 
front  of  Rose,  and  looked  her  straight  and  honestly  in 
the  face  with  his  clear  brown  eyes,  and  he  begged, 
“ O give  me  those  beautiful  flowers,  sweet  Rose,  as 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


119 

the  prize  of  victory  ; you  cannot  refuse  me  that.” 
Rose  at  once  took  the  flowers  from  her  bosom  and 
gave  them  to  him,  laughing  and  saying,  “ Ay,  I know 
well  that  a brave  knight  like  you  deserves  a token  of 
honour  from  a lady  ; and  so  here,  you  may  have  my 
withered  flowers.”  Conrad  kissed  the  flowers  that 
were  given  him,  and  then  fastened  them  in  his  baretta  ; 
but  Master  Martin,  rising  to  his  feet,  cried,  “ There’s 
another  of  your  silly  tricks — come,  let  us  be  going 
home  ; it  is  getting  dark.”  Herr  Martin  strode  on 
first ; Conrad  with  modest  courtly  grace  took  Rose’s 
arm  ; whilst  Reinhold  and  Frederick  followed  them 
considerably  out  of  humour.  People  who  met  them, 
stopped  and  turned  round  to  look  after  them,  saying, 
“ Marry,  look  now,  look  ; that's  the  rich  cooper 
Thomas  Martin,  with  his  pretty  little  daughter  and 
his  stout  journeymen.  A fine  set  of  people  I call 
them.” 

Of  Dame  Martha' s conversation  with  Rose  about  the  three 

journeymen.  Conrad's  quarrel  with  Master  Martin. 

Generally  it  is  the  morning  following  a holiday 
when  young  girls  are  wont  to  enjoy  all  the  pleasure 
of  it,  and  taste  it,  and  thoroughly  digest  it  ; and  this 
after  celebration  they  seem  to  like  far  better  than  the 
actual  holiday  itself.  And  so  next  morning  pretty 
Rose  sat  alone  in  her  room  with  her  hands  folded  on 
her  lap,  and  her  head  bent  slightly  forward  in  medita- 
tion— her  spindle  and  embroidery  meanwhile  resting. 
Probably  she  was  now  listening  to  Reinhold’s  and 
Frederick’s  songs,  and  now  watching  Conrad  cleverly 
gaining  the  victory  over  his  competitors,  and  now  she 
saw  him  coming  to  her  for  the  prize  of  victory  ; and 
then  she  hummed  a few  lines  of  a pretty  song,  and 


120 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


then  she  whispered,  “ Do  you  want  my  flowers  ? ” 
whereat  a deeper  crimson  suffused  her  cheeks,  and 
brighter  glances  made  their  way  through  her  downcast 
eyelashes,  and  soft  sighs  stole  forth  from  her  inmost 
heart.  Then  Dame  Martha  came  in,  and  Rose  was 
delighted  to  be  able  to  tell  at  full  length  all  that  had 
taken  place  in  St.  Catherine’s  Church  and  on  the 
Allerwiese.  When  Rose  had  done  speaking,  Dame 
Martha  said,  smiling,  “Oh!  so  now,  dear  Rose,  you 
will  soon  have  to  make  your  choice  between  your  three 
handsome  lovers.”  “For  God’s  sake,”  burst  out  Rose, 
quite  frightened,  and  flushing  hotly  all  over  her  face, 
“for  mercy’s  sake,  Dame  Martha,  what  do  you  mean 
by  that  ? I — three  lovers  ! ” “ Don’t  take  on  so,” 

went  on  Dame  Martha,  “ don’t  take  on  in  that  way, 
dear  Rose,  as  if  you  knew  nothing,  as  if  you  could 
guess  nothing.  Why,  where  do  you  put  your  eyes, 
girl  ? you  must  be  quite  blind  not  to  see  that  our 
journeymen,  Reinhold,  Frederick,  and  Conrad — yes,  all 
three  of  them — are  madly  in  love  with  you.”  “What 
a fancy,  to  be  sure,  Dame  Martha,”  whispered  Rose^ 
holding  her  hands  before  her  face.  Then  Dame  Martha 
knelt  down  before  her,  and  threw  her  arm  about  her, 
saying,  “Come,  my  pretty,  bashful  child,  take  your 
hands  away,  and  look  me  straight  in  the  eyes,  and  then 
tell  me  you  have  not  long  ago  perceived  that  you  fill 
both  the  heart  and  the  mind  of  each  of  our  journey- 
men, deny  that  if  you  can.  Nay,  I tell  you,  you  can't 
do  it  ; and  it  would,  i’  faith,  be  a truly  wonderful  thing 
if  a maiden’s  eyes  did  not  see  a thing  of  that  sort. 
Why,  when  you  go  into  the  shop,  their  eyes  are  off 
their  work  and  flying  across  to  you  in  a minute,  and 
they  bustle  and  stir  about  with  new  life.  And  Rein- 
hold and  Frederick  begin  their  best  songs,  and  even 
wild  Conrad  grows  quiet  and  gentle  ; each  tries  to  in- 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


12  I 


vent  some  excuse  to  approach  nearer  to  you,  and  when 
you  honour  one  of  them  with  a sweet  look  or  a kindly 
word,  how  his  eyes  sparkle,  and  his  face  flushes  ! Come 
now,  my  pet,  is  it  not  nice  to  have  such  handsome  fel- 
lows all  making  love  to  you  ? But  whether  you  will 
choose  one  of  the  three  or  which  it  will  be,  that  I can- 
not indeed  say,  for  you  are  good  and  kind  to  them  all 
alike,  and  yet — and  yet — but  I must  not  say  more. 
Now  an  you  come  to  me  and  said,  ‘O  Dame  Martha, 
give  me  your  advice,  to  which  of  these  young  men,  who 
are  all  wanting  me,  shall  I give  my  hand  and  heart  ? ’ 
then  I should  of  course  answer,  ‘If  your  heart  does  not 
speak  out  loudly  and  distinctly,  It’s  this  or  it’s  that, 
why,  let  them  all  three  go.’  I must  say  Reinhold 
pleases  me  right  well,  and  so  does  Frederick,  and  so 
does  Conrad  ; and  then  again  on  the  other  hand  I have 
something  to  say  against  each  of  them.  In  fact,  dear 
Rose,  when  I see  them  working  away  so  bravely,  I al- 
ways think  of  my  poor  Valentine  ; and  I must  say  that, 
if  he  could  not  perhaps  produce  any  better  work,  there 
was  yet  quite  a different  kind  of  swing  and  style  in  all 
that  he  did  do.  You  could  see  all  his  heart  was  in  his 
work ; but  with  these  young  fellows  it  always  seems  to 
me  as  if  they  only  worked  so,  so — as  if  they  had  in  their 
heads  different  things  altogether  from  their  work  ; nay, 
it  almost  strikes  me  as  if  it  were  a burden  which  they 
have  voluntarily  taken  up,  and  were  now  bearing  with 
sturdy  courage.  Of  them  all  I can  get  on  best  with 
Frederick  ; he’s  such  a faithful,  affectionate  fellow. 
He  is  the  one  who  seems  to  belong  to  us  most ; I un- 
derstand all  that  he  says.  And  then  his  love  for  you  is 
so  still,  and  as  shy  as  a good  child’s  ; he  hardly  dares 
to  look  at  you,  and  blushes  if  you  only  say  a single 
word  to  him  ; and  that’s  what  I like  so  much  in  the 
dear  lad.”  A tear  seemed  to  glisten  in  Rose’s  eye  as 


122 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


Dame  Martha  said  this.  She  stood  up,  and  turning 
to  the  window,  said,  “ I like  Frederick  very  much,  but 
you  must  not  pass  over  Reinhold  contemptuously.” 
“ I never  dreamt  of  doing  so,”  replied  Dame  Martha, 
“ for  Reinhold  is  by  a long  way  the  handsomest  of  all. 
And  what  eyes  he  has ! And  when  he  looks  you  through 
and  through  with  his  bright  glances — no,  it’s  more  than 
you  can  endure.  And  yet  there’s  something  so  strange 
and  peculiar  in  his  character,  it  quite  makes  me  shiver 
at  times,  and  makes  me  quite  afraid  of  him.  When 
Reinhold  is  working  in  the  shop,  I should  think  Herr 
Martin,  when  he  tells  him  to  do  this  or  do  that,  must 
always  feel  as  I should  if  anybody  were  to  put  a bright 
pan  in  my  kitchen  all  glittering  with  gold  and  precious 
stones,  and  should  bid  me  use  it  like  any  ordinary 
common  pan — why,  I should  hardly  dare  to  touch  it  at 
all.  He  tells  his  stories  and  talks  and  talks,  and  it  all 
sounds  like  sweet  music,  and  you  are  quite  carried 
away  by  it,  but  when  I sit  down  to  think  seriously 
about  what  he  has  been  saying,  I find  I haven’t  under- 
stood a single  word.  And  then  when  he  now  and  again 
jests  in  the  way  we  do,  and  I think  now  he’s  just  like 
us,  then  all  at  once  he  looks  so  distinguished  that  I get 
really  afraid  of  him.  And  yet  I can’t  say  that  he  puffs 
himself  up  in  the  way  that  many  of  our  Junkers  or 
patricians  do  ; no,  it’s  something  else  altogether  differ- 
ent. Ina  word,  it  strikes  me,  by  my  troth,  as  if  he 
held  intercourse  with  higher  spirits,  as  if  he  belonged, 
in  fact,  to  another  world.  Conrad  is  a wild  overbearing 
fellow,  and  yet  there  is  something  confoundedly  dis- 
tinguished about  him  as  well ; it  doesn’t  agree  with  the 
cooper’s  apron  somehow.  And  he  always  acts  as  if  no- 
body but  he  had  to  give  orders,  and  as  if  the  others 
must  obey  him.  In  the  short  time  that  he  has  been 
here  he  has  got  so  far  that  when  he  bellows  at  Master 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


123 


Martin  in  his  loud  ringing  voice,  his  master  generally 
does  what  he  wishes.  But  at  the  same  time  he  is  so 
good-natured  and  so  thoroughly  honest  that  you  can’t 
bear  ill-will  against  him  ; rather,  I must  say,  that  in 
spite  of  his  wildness,  I almost  like  him  better  than  I do 
Reinhold,  for  even  if  he  does  speak  fearfully  grand, 
you  can  yet  understand  him  very  well.  I wager  he  has 
once  been  a campaigner,  he  may  say  what  he  likes. 
That’s  why  he  knows  so  much  about  arms,  and  has 
even  got  something  of  knights’  ways  about  him,  which 
doesn’t  suit  him  at  all  badly.  Now  do  tell  me,  Rose 
dear,  without  any  ifs  and  ands,  which  of  the  three 
journeymen  you  like  best?”  “Don't  ask  me  such 
searching  questions,  dear  Dame  Martha,”  answered 
Rose.  “ But  of  this  I am  quite  sure,  that  Reinhold 
does  not  stir  up  in  me  the  same  feelings  that  he  does 
in  you.  It’s  perfectly  true,  too,  that  he  is  altogether 
different  from  his  equals  ; and  when  he  talks  I could 
fancy  I enter  into  a beautiful  garden  full  of  bright 
and  magnificent  flowers  and  blossoms  and  fruits,  such 
as  are  not  to  be  found  on  earth,  and  I like  to  be 
amongst  them.  Since  Reinhold  has  been  here  I see 
many  things  in  a different  light,  and  lots  of  things 
that  were  once  dim  and  formless  in  my  mind  are  now 
so  bright  and  clear  that  I can  easily  distinguish  them.” 
Dame  Martha  rose  to  her  feet,  and  shaking  her  finger 
at  Rose  as  she  went  out  of  the  room,  said,  “Ah  ! ah! 
Rose,  so  Reinhold  is  the  favourite  then  ? I didn’t 
think  it,  I didn’t  even  dream  it.”  Rose  made  answer 
as  she  accompanied  her  as  far  as  the  door,  “ Pray,  dear 
Dame  Martha,  think  nothing,  dream  nothing,  but 
leave  all  to  the  future.  What  it  brings  is  the  will  of 
God,  and  to  that  everybody  must  bow  humbly  and 
gratefully.” 

Meanwhile  it  was  becoming  extremely  lively  in 


124 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


Master  Martin’s  workshop.  In  order  to  execute  all 
his  orders  he  had  engaged  with  ordinary  labourers 
and  taken  in  some  apprentices,  and  they  all  hammered 
and  knocked  till  the  din  could  be  heard  far  and  wide. 
Reinhold  had  finished  his  calculations  and  measure- 
ments for  the  great  cask  that  was  to  be  built  for  the 
Bishop  of  Bamberg,  whilst  Frederick  and  Conrad  had 
set  it  up  so  cleverly  that  Master  Martin’s  heart  laughed 
in  his  body,  and  he  cried  again  and  again,  “Now  that 
I call  a grand  piece  of  work  ; that’ll  be  the  best  little 
cask  I’ve  ever  made — except  my  masterpiece.”  Now 
the  three  apprentices  stood  driving  the  hoops  on  to 
the  fitted  static,  and  the  whole  place  rang  again  with 
the  din  of  their  mallets.  Old  Valentine  was  busy 
plying  his  draw-knife,  and  Dame  Martha,  her  two 
youngest  on  her  knee,  sat  just  behind  Conrad,  whilst 
the  other  wideawake  little  rascals  were  shouting  and 
making  a noise,  tumbling  the  hoops  about,  and  chasing 
each  other.  In  fact,  there  was  so  much  hubbub  and 
so  much  vigorous  hard  work  going  on  that  hardly 
anybody  noticed  old  Herr  Johannes  Holzschuer  as  he 
stepped  into  the  shop.  Master  Martin  went  to  meet 
him,  and  politely  inquired  what  he  desired.  “ Why, 
in  the  first  place,”  said  Holzschuer,  “ I want  to  have 
a look  at  my  dear  Frederick  again,  who  is  working 
away  so  lustily  yonder.  And  then,  goodman  Master 
Martin,  I want  a stout  cask  for  my  wine-cellar,  which 
I will  ask  you  to  make  for  me.  Why  look  you,  that 
cask  they  are  now  setting  up  there  is  exactly  the  sort 
of  thing  I want  ; you  can  let  me  have  that,  you’ve 
only  got  to  name  the  price.”  Reinhold,  who  had 
grown  tired  and  had  been  resting  a few  minutes  down 
in  the  shop,  and  was  now  preparing  to  ascend  the 
scaffolding  again,  heard  Holzschuer’s  words  and  said, 
turning  his  head  towards  the  old  gentleman,  “ Marry, 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


125 

my  friend  Herr  Holzschuer,  you  need  not  set  your  heart 
upon  this  cask  ; we  are  making  it  for  his  Lordship  the 
Bishop  of  Bamberg.”  Master  Martin,  his  arms  folded 
on  his  back,  his  left  foot  planted  forward,  his  head 
thrown  back  in  his  neck,  blinked  at  the  cask  and  said 
proudly,  “ My  dear  master,  you  might  have  seen  from 
the  carefully  selected  wood  and  the  great  pains  taken 
in  the  work  that  a masterpiece  like  that  was  meant 
for  a prince’s  1 cellar.  My  journeyman  Reinhold  has 
said  the  truth  ; don’t  set  your  heart  on  a piece  of  work 
like  that.  But  when  the  vintage  is  over  I will  get  you 
a plain  strong  little  cask  made,  such  as  will  be  suitable 
for  your  cellar.”  Old  Holzschuer,  incensed  at  Master 
Martin’s  pride,  replied  that  his  gold  pieces  weighed 
just  as  much  as  the  Bishop  of  Bamberg’s,  and  that  he 
hoped  he  could  get  good  work  elsewhere  for  ready 
money.  Master  Martin,  although  fuming  with  rage, 
controlled  himself  with  difficulty  ; he  would  not  by 
any  means  like  to  offend  old  Herr  Holzschuer,  who 
stood  so  high  in  the  esteem  both  of  the  Council  and 
of  all  the  burghers. , At  this  moment  Conrad  struck 
mightier  blows  than  ever  with  his  mallet,  so  that  the 
whole  shop  rang  and  cracked  ; then  Master  Martin’s 
internal  rage  boiled  over,  and  he  shouted  vehemently, 
“ Conrad,  you  blockhead,  what  do  you  mean  by 
striking  so  blindly  and  heedlessly  ? do  you  mean  to 
break  my  cask  in  pieces  ? ” “ Ho  ! ho  ! ” replied 

Conrad,  looking  round  defiantly  at  his  master,  “ Ho  ! 
ho  ! my  comical  little  master,  and  why  should  I not  ? ” 
And  therewith  he  dealt  such  a terrible  blow  at  the 


1 The  word  “prince”  is  expressed  in  German  by  two  distinct  words  ; 
one,  like  the  English  word,  designates  a member  of  a royal  or  reigning 
house  ; the  other  is  used  as  a simple  title,  often  official,  ranking  above 
duke.  The  Bishop  of  Bamberg  was  in  this  latter  sense  a prince  of  the 
empire. 


126 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


cask  that  the  strongest  hoop  sprang,  rattling,  and 
knocked  Reinhold  down  from  the  narrow  plank  on 
the  scaffolding  ; and  it  was  further  evident  from  the 
hollow  echo  that  a stave  had  been  broken  as  well. 
Completely  mastered  by  his  furious  anger,  Master 
Martin  snatched  out  of  Valentine’s  hand  the  bar  he 
was  shaving,  and  striding  towards  the  cask,  dealt  Con- 
rad a good  sound  stroke  with  it  on  the  back,  shouting, 
“You  cursed  dog!”  As  soon  as  Conrad  felt  the  blow 
he  wheeled  sharply  round,  and  after  standing  for  a 
moment  as  if  bereft  of  his  senses,  his  eyes  blazed  up 
with  fury,  he  ground  his  teeth,  and  screamed,  “ Struck  ! 
struck  ! ” Then  at  one  bound  he  was  down  from  the 
scaffolding,  had  snatched  up  an  adze  that  lay  on  the 
floor,  and  aimed  a powerful  stroke  at  his  master  ; had 
not  Frederick  pulled  Martin  on  one  side  the  blow 
would  have  split  his  head  ; as  it  was,  the  adze  only 
grazed  his  arm,  from  which,  however,  the  blood  at 
once  began  to  spurt  out.  Martin,  fat  and  helpless  as 
he  was,  lost  his  equilibrium  and  fell  over  the  bench,  at 
which  one  of  the  apprentices  was  working,  into  the 
floor.  They  all  threw  themselves  upon  Conrad,  who 
was  frantic,  flourishing  his  bloody  adze  in  the  air,  and 
shouting  and  screaming  in  a terrible  voice,  “ Let  him 
go  to  hell  ! To  hell  with  him  ! ” Hurling  them  all 
off  with  the  strength  of  a giant,  he  was  preparing  to 
deal  a second  blow  at  his  poor  master,  who  was  gasp- 
ing for  breath  and  groaning  on  the  floor, — a blow  that 
would  have  completely  done  for  him — when  Rose,  pale 
as  a corpse  with  fright,  appeared  in  the  shop-door. 
As  soon  as  Conrad  observed  her  he  stood  as  if  turned 
to  a pillar  of  stone,  the  adze  suspended  in  the  air. 
Then  he  threw  the  tool  away  from  him,  struck  his 
hands  together  upon  his  chest,  and  cried  in  a voice 
that  went  to  everybody’s  heart,  “ Oh,  good  God ! good 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


12  7 


God  ! what  have  I done  ? ” and  away  he  rushed  out  of 
the  shop.  No  one  thought  of  following  him. 

Now  poor  Master  Martin  was  after  some  difficulty 
lifted  up  ; it  was  found,  however,  that  the  adze  had 
only  penetrated  into  the  thick  fleshy  part  of  the  arm, 
and  the  wound  could  not  therefore  be  called  serious. 
Old  Herr  Holzschuer,  whom  Martin  had  involved  with 
him  in  his  fall,  was  pulled  out  from  beneath  the  shav- 
ings, and  Dame  Martha’s  children,  who  ceased  not  to 
scream  and  cry  over  good  Father  Martin,  were  appeased 
as  far  as  that  could  be  done.  As  for  Martin  himself, 
he  was  quite  dazed,  and  said  if  only  that  devil  of  a bad 
journeyman  had  not  spoilt  his  fine  cask  he  should  not 
make  much  account  of  the  wound. 

Sedan  chairs  were  brought  for  the  old  gentlemen,  for 
Holzschuer  also  had  bruised  himself  rather  in  his  fall. 
He  hurled  reproaches  at  a trade  in  which  they  employed 
such  murderous  tools,  and  conjured  Frederick  to  come 
back  to  his  beautiful  art  of  casting  and  working  in  the 
precious  metals,  and  the  sooner  the  better. 

As  soon  as  the  dusk  of  evening  began  to  creep  up 
over  the  sky,  Frederick,  and  along  with  him  Reinhold, 
whom  the  hoop  had  struck  rather  sharply,  and  who 
felt  as  if  every  limb  was  benumbed,  strode  back  into 
the  town  in  very  low  spirits.  Then  they  heard  a soft 
sighing  and  groaning  behind  a hedge.  They  stood 
still,  and  a tall  figure  at  once  rose  up  ; they  immediately 
recognised  Conrad,  and  began  to  withdraw  timidly. 
But  he  addressed  them  in  a tearful  voice,  saying,  “You 
need  not  be  so  frightened  at  me,  my  good  comrades ; 
of  course  you  take  me  for  a devilish  murderous  brute, 
but  I am  not — indeed  I am  not  so.  I could  not  do 
otherwise  ; I ought  to  have  struck  down  the  fat  old 
master,  and  by  rights  I ought  to  go  along  with  you 
and  do  it  now,  if  I only  could.  But  no,  no  ; it’s  all 


128 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


over.  Remember  me  to  pretty  Rose,  whom  I love  so 
above  all  reason.  Tell  her  I will  bear  her  flowers  on 
my  heart  all  my  life  long,  I will  adorn  myself  with 
them  when  I — but  she  will  perhaps  hear  of  me  again 
some  day.  Farewell  ! farewell ! my  good,  brave  com- 
rades.” And  Conrad  ran  away  across  the  field  with- 
out once  stopping. 

Reinhold  said,  “ There  is  something  peculiar  about 
this  young  fellow  ; wre  can’t  weigh  or  measure  this 
deed  by  any  ordinary  standard.  Perhaps  the  future 
will  unfold  to  us  the  secret  that  has  lain  heavy  upon 
his  breast.” 


Reinhold  leaves  Master  Martin  s house. 

If  formerly  there  had  been  merry  days  in  Master 
Martin’s  workshop,  so  now  they  wrere  proportionately 
dull.  Reinhold,  incapable  of  work,  remained  confined 
to  his  room  ; Martin,  his  wounded  arm  in  a sling,  was 
incessantly  abusing  the  good-for-nothing  stranger- 
apprentice,  and  railing  at  him  for  the  mischief  he  had 
wrought.  Rose,  and  even  Dame  Martha  and  her 
children,  avoided  the  scene  of  the  rash  savage  deed,  and 
so  Frederick’s  blows  fell  dull  and  melancholy  enough, 
like  a woodcutter’s  in  a lonely  wood  in  winter  time, 
for  to  Frederick  it  was  now  left  to  finish  the  big  cask 
alone,  and  a hard  task  it  was. 

And  soon  his  mind  and  heart  were  possessed  by  a 
profound  sadness,  for  he  believed  he  had  now  clear 
proofs  of  what  he  had  for  a long  time  feared.  He  no 
longer  had  any  doubt  that  Rose  loved  Reinhold.  Not 
only  had  she  formerly  shown  many  a kindness  to 
Reinhold  alone,  and  to  him  alone  given  many  a sweet 
word,  but  now — it  was  as  plain  as  noonday — since 
Reinhold  could  no  longer  come  to  work,  Rose  too  no 


MASTE R MARTIN. 


129 

longer  thought  of  going  out,  but  preferred  to  stay 
indoors,  no  doubt  to  wait  upon  and  take  good  care  of 
her  lover.  On  Sundays,  when  all  the  rest  set  out 
gaily,  and  Master  Martin,  who  had  recovered  to  some 
extent  of  his  wound,  invited  him  to  walk  with  him 
and  Rose  to  the  Allerwiese,  he  refused  the  invitation  ; 
but,  burdened  with  trouble  and  the  bitter  pain  of 
disappointed  love,  he  hastened  off  alone  to  the  village 
and  the  hill  where  he  had  first  met  with  Reinhold.  He 
threw  himself  down  in  the  tall  grass  where  the  flowers 
grew,  and  as  he  thought  how  that  the  beautiful  star  of 
hope  which  had  shone  before  him  all  along  his  home- 
ward path  had  now  suddenly  set  in  the  blackness  of 
night  after  he  had  reached  his  goal,  and  as  he  thought 
how  that  this  step  which  he  had  taken  was  like  the 
vain  efforts  of  a dreamer  stretching  out  his  yearning 
arms  after  an  empty  vision  of  air, — the  tears  fell  from 
his  eyes  and  dropped  upon  the  flowers,  which  bent 
their  little  heads  as  if  sorrowing  for  the  young  journey- 
man’s great  unhappiness.  Without  his  being  exactly 
conscious  of  it,  the  painful  sighs  which  escaped  his 
labouring  breast  assumed  the  form  of  words,  of  musical 
notes,  and  he  sang  this  song  : — 

My  star  of  hope, 

Where  hast  thou  gone  ? 

Alas  ! thy  glory  rises  up — 

Thy  glory  sweet,  far  from  me  now — 

And  pours  its  light  on  others  down. 

Ye  rustling  evening  breezes,  rouse  you, 

Blow  on  my  breast,  . 

Awake  all  joy  that  kills, 

Awake  all  pain  that  brings  to  death, 

So  that  my  sore  and  bleeding  heart, 

Steeped  to  the  core  in  bitter  tears, 

May  break  in  yearning  comfortless. 

Why  whisper  ye,  ye  darksome  trees? 

Vol.  II. — 9 


*3° 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


So  softly  and  like  friends  together? 

And  why,  0 golden  skirts  of  sky, 

Look  ye  so  kindly  down  on  me? 

Show  me  my  grave  ; 

For  that  is  now  my  haven  of  hope, 

Where  I shall  calmly,  softly  sleep. 

And  as  it  often  happens  that  the  very  greatest 
trouble,  if  only  it  can  find  vent  in  tears  and  words, 
softens  down  into  a gentle  melancholy,  mild  and  pain- 
less, and  that  often  a faint  glimmer  of  hope  appears 
then  in  the  soul,  so  it  was  with  Frederick  ; when  he 
had  sung  this  song  he  felt  wonderfully  strengthened 
and  comforted.  The  evening  breezes  and  the  darksome 
trees  that  he  had  called  upon  in  his  song  rustled  and 
whispered  words  of  consolation  ; and  like  the  sweet 
dreams  of  distant  glory  or  of  distant  happiness,  golden 
streaks  of  light  worked  their  way  up  across  the  dusky 
sky.  Frederick  rose  to  his  feet,  and  went  down  the 
hill  into  the  village.  He  almost  fancied  that  Reinhold 
was  walking  beside  him  as  he  did  on  the  day  they  first 
found  each  other ; and  all  the  words  which  Reinhold 
had  spoken  again  recurred  to  his  mind.  And  as  his 
thoughts  dwelt  upon  Reinhold’s  story  about  the  con- 
test between  the  two  painters  who  were  friends,  then 
the  scales  fell  from  his  eyes.  There  was  no  doubt  about 
it ; Reinhold  must  have  seen  Rose  before  and  loved 
her.  It  was  only  his  love  for  her  which  had  brought 
him  to  Nuremberg  to  Master  Martin’s,  and  by  the  con- 
test between  the  two  painters  he  meant  simply  and 
solely  their  own — Reinhold’s  and  Frederick’s — rival 
wooing  of  beautiful  Rose.  The  words  that  Reinhold 
had  then  spoken  rang  again  in  his  ears, — “ Honest 
contention  for  the  same  prize,  without  any  malicious 
reserve,  ought  to  unite  true  friends  and  knit  their 
hearts  still  closer  together,  instead  of  setting  them  at 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


I3I 

variance  There  should  never  be  any  place  in  noble 
minds  for  petty  envy  or  malicious  hatred.”  “Yes,” 
exclaimed  Frederick  aloud,  “yes,  friend  of  my  heart, 
I will  appeal  to  you  without  any  reserve,  you  yourself 
shall  tell  me  if  all  hope  for  me  is  lost.” 

It  was  approaching  noon  when  Frederick  tapped  at 
Reinhold’s  door.  As  all  remained  still  within,  he 
pushed  open  the  door,  which  was  not  locked  as  usual, 
and  went  in.  But  the  moment  he  did  so  he  stood  rooted 
to  the  spot.  Upon  an  easel,  the  glorious  rays  of  the 
morning  sun  falling  upon  it,  was  a splendid  picture, — 
Rose  in  all  the  pride  of  her  beauty  and  charms,  and 
life  size.  The  maul-stick  lying  on  the  table,  and  the 
wet  colours  of  the  palette,  showed  that  some  one  had 
been  at  work  on  the  picture  quite  recently.  “ O Rose, 
Rose! — By  Heaven!”  sighed  Frederick.  Reinhold, 
who  had  entered  behind  him  unperceived,  clapped  him 
on  the  shoulder  and  asked,  smiling,  “Well,  now,  Fred- 
erick, what  do  you  say  to  my  picture ! ” Then  Fred- 
erick pressed  him  to  his  heart  and  cried,  “ Oh  you 
splendid  fellow — you  are  indeed  a noble  artist.  Yes, 
it’s  all  clear  to  me  now.  You  have  won  the  prize — for 
which  I — poor  me  ! — had  the  hardihood  to  struggle. 
Oh  ! what  am  I in  comparison  with  you  ? And  what  is 
my  art  against  yours  ? And  yet  I too  had  some  fine 
ideas  in  my  head.  Don’t  laugh  at  me,  dear  Reinhold  ; 
but,  look  you,  I thought  what  a grand  thing  it  would 
be  to  model  Rose’s  lovely  figure  and  cast  it  in  the  finest 
silver.  But  that’s  all  childishness,  whilst  you — you — 
Oh ! how  sweetly  she  smiles  upon  you,  and  how  de- 
lightfully you  have  brought  out  all  her  beauty.  O 
Reinhold  ! Reinhold  ! you  happy,  happy  fellow  ! Ay, 
and  it  has  all  come  about  as  you  said  long  ago.  We 
have  both  striven  for  the  prize  and  you  have  won  it  : 
you  could  not  help  but  win  it,  and  I shall  still  continue 


132 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


to  be  your  friend  with  all  my  heart.  But  I must  leave 
this  house — my  home  : I cannot  bear  it,  I should  die  if 
I were  to  see  Rose  again.  Please  forgive  me,  my  dear, 
dear,  noble  friend.  To-day,  this  very  moment,  I will 
go — go  away  into  the  wide  world,  whe££_my  trouble, 
my  unbearable  misery,  is  sending  meTj  And  thus 
speaking,  Frederick  was  hastening  out  of  the  apart- 
ment, but  Reinhold  held  him  fast,  saying  gently,  “You 
shall  not  go  ; for  things  may  turn  out  quite  different 
from  what  you  think.  It  is  now  time  for  me  to  tell  you 
all  that  I have  hitherto  kept  silence  about.  That  I am 
not  a cooper  but  a painter  you  are  now  well  aware,  and 
I hope  a glance  at  this  picture  will  convince  you  that  I 
am  not  to  be  ranked  amongst  the  inferior  artists. 
Whilst  still  young  I went  to  Italy,  the  land  of  art ; there 
I had  the  good  fortune  to  be  accepted  as  a pupil  by 
renowned  masters,  who  fostered  into  living  fire  the 
spark  which  glowed  within  me.  Thus  it  came  to  pass 
that  I rapidly  rose  into  fame,  that  my  pictures  became 
celebrated  throughout  all  Italy,  and  the  powerful  Duke 
of  Florence *  1 summoned  me  to  his  court.  At  that  time 
I would  not  hear  a word  about  German  art,  and  with- 
out having  seen  any  of  your  pictures,  I talked  a good 
deal  of  nonsense  about  the  coldness,  the  bad  drawing, 
and  the  hardness  of  your  Dürer  and  your  Cranach.’ 

1 At  this  time  Francesco  I.  (of  the  illustrious  house  of  Medici)  was 
Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  his  father  Cosimo  I.  having  exchanged  the 
title  of  Duke  of  Florence  for  that  of  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany  in  1569. 
Francesco  did  much  for  the  encouragement  of  art  and  science.  He 
founded  the  well-known  Uffizi  Gallery,  and  it  was  in  his  reign  that  the 
Accademia  Della  Crusca  was  instituted. 

1 Lucas  Cranach  occupies  along  with  his  contemporary  Albrecht 
Dürer  the  first  place  in  the  ranks  of  German  painters.  Bom  in  Upper 
Franconia  in  1472  (died  1553),  he  secured  the  favour  of  the  Elector  of 
Saxony,  and  manifested  extraordinary  activity  in  several  branches  of 
painting. 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


133 


But  one  day  a picture-dealer  brought  a small  picture 
of  the  Madonna  by  old  Albrecht  to  the  Duke’s  gallery, 
and  it  made  a powerful  and  wonderful  impression  upon 
me,  so  that  I turned  away  completely  from  the  volup- 
tuousness of  Italian  art,  and  from  that  very  hour  deter- 
mined to  go  back  to  my  native  Germany  and  study 
there  the  masterpieces  upon  which  my  heart  was  now 
set.  I came  to  Nuremberg  here,  and  when  I beheld 
Rose  I seemed  to  see  the  Madonna  who  had  so  won- 
derfully stirred  my  heart,  walking  in  bodily  form  on 
earth.  I had  the  same  experiences  as  you,  dear  Fred- 
erick ; the  bright  flames  of  love  flashed  up  and  con- 
sumed me,  mind  and  heart  and  soul.  I saw  nothing,  I 
thought  of  nothing,  but  Rose  ; all  else  had  vanished 
from  my  mind  ; and  even  art  itself  only  retained  its 
hold  upon  me  in  so  far  as  it  enabled  me  to  draw  and 
paint  Rose  again  and  again — hundreds  of  times.  I 
would  have  approached  the  maiden  in  the  free  Italian 
way  ; but  all  my  attempts  proved  fruitless.  There  was 
no  means  of  securing  a footing  of  intimacy  in  Master 
Martin’s  house  in  any  insidious  way.  At  last  I made 
up  my  mind  to  sue  for  Rose  directly,  when  I learned 
that  Master  Martin  had  determined  to  give  his  daughter 
only  to  a good  master-cooper.  Straightway  I formed 
the  adventurous  resolve  to  go  and  learn  the  trade  of 
cooperage  in  Strasburg,  and  then  to  come  and  work  in 
Master  Martin’s  work-shop.  I left  all  the  rest  to  the 
ordering  of  Providence.  You  know  in  what  way  I car- 
ried out  my  resolve  ; but  I must  now  also  tell  you  what 
Master  Martin  said  to  me  some  days  ago.  He  said  I 
should  make  a skilful  cooper  and  should  be  a right 
dear  and  worthy  son-in-law,  for  he  saw  plainly  that  I 
was  seeking  to  gain  Rose’s  favour,  and  that  she  liked 
me  right  well.”  “ Can  it  then  indeed  well  be  other- 
wise ?”  cried  Frederick,  painfully  agitated.  “Yes,  yes, 


134 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


Rose  will  be  yours  ; how  came  I,  unhappy  wretch  that 
I am,  ever  to  hope  for  such  happiness?”  “You  are 
forgetting,  my  brother,”  Reinhold  went  on  to  say ; 
“ you  are  forgetting  that  Rose  herself  has  not  confirmed 
this,  which  our  cunning  Master  Martin  no  doubt  is 
well  aware  of.  True  it  is  that  Rose  has  always  shown 
herself  kind  and  charming  towards  me,  but  a loving 
heart  betrays  itself  in  other  ways.  Promise  me,  brother, 
to  remain  quiet  for  three  days  longer,  and  to  go  to 
your  work  in  the  shop  as  usual.  I also  could  now  go 
to  work  again,  but  since  I have  been  busy  with,  and 
wrapt  up  in  this  picture,  I feel  an  indescribable  disgust 
at  that  coarse  rough  work  out  yonder.  And,  what  is 
more,  I can  never  lay  hand  upon  mallet  again,  let  come 
what  will.  On  the  third  day  I will  frankly  tell  you  how 
matters  stand  between  me  and  Rose.  If  I should  really 
be  the  lucky  one  to  whom  she  has  given  her  love,  then 
you  may  go  your  way  and  make  trial  of  the  experience 
that  time  can  cure  the  deepest  wounds.”  Frederick 
promised  to  await  his  fate. 

On  the  third  day  Frederick’s  heart  beat  with  fear  and 
anxious  expectation  ; he  had  in  the  meantime  carefully 
avoided  meeting  Rose.  Like  one  in  a dream  he  crept 
about  the  workshop,  and  his  awkwardness  gave  Master 
Martin,  no  doubt,  just  cause  for  his  grumbling  and 
scolding,  which  was  not  by  any  means  customary  with 
him.  Moreover,  the  master  seemed  to  have  encoun- 
tered something  that  completely  spoilt  all  his  good 
spirits.  He  talked  a great  deal  about  base  tricks  and 
ingratitude,  without  clearly  expressing  what  he  meant 
by  it.  When  at  length  evening  came,  and  Frederick 
was  returning  towards  the  town,  he  saw  not  far  from 
the  gate  a horseman  coming  to  meet  him,  whom  he 
recognised  to  be  Reinhold.  As  soon  as  the  latter  caught 
sight  of  Frederick  he  cried,  “ Ha  ! ha  ! I meet  you  just 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


135 


as  I wanted.”  And  leaping  from  his  horse,  he  slung 
the  rein  over  his  arm,  and  grasped  his  friend’s  hand. 
“ Let  us  walk  along  a space  beside  each  other,”  he  said. 
“Now  I can  tell  you  what  luck  I have  had  with  my 
suit.”  Frederick  observed  that  Reinhold  wore  the 
same  clothes  which  he  had  worn  when  they  first  met 
each  other,  and  that  the  horse  bore  a portmanteau. 
Reinhold  looked  pale  and  troubled.  “ Good  luck  to 
you,  brother,”  he  began  somewhat  wildly  ; “good  luck 
to  you.  You  can  now  go  and  hammer  away  lustily  at 
your  casks  ; I will  yield  the  field  to  you.  I have  just 
said  adieu  to  pretty  Rose  and  worthy  Master  Martin.” 
“ What  ! ” exclaimed  Frederick,  whilst  an  electric  thrill, 
as  it  were,  shot  through  all  his  limbs — “what!  you 
are  going  away  now  that  Master  Martin  is  willing  to 
take  you  for  his  son-in-law,  and  Rose  loves  you  ? ” 
Reinhold  replied,  “ That  was  only  a delusion,  brother, 
which  your  jealousy  has  led  you  into.  It  has  now  come 
out  that  Rose  would  have  had  me  simply  to  show  her 
dutifulness  and  obedience,  but  there’s  not  a spark  of 
love  glowing  in  her  ice-cold  heart.  Ha  ! ha  ! I should 
have  made  a fine  cooper — that  I should.  Week-days 
scraping  hoops  and  planing  staves,  Sundays  walking  be- 
side my  honest  wife  to  St.  Catherine’s  or  St.  Sebald’s,  and 

in  the  evening  to  the  Allerwiese,  year  after  year  ” 

“Nay,  mock  not,”  said  Frederick,  interrupting  Rein- 
hold’s loud  laughter,  “mock  not  at  the  excellent  burgh- 
er’s simple,  harmless  life.  If  Rose  does  not  really  love 
you,  it  is  not  her  fault  ; you  are  so  passionate,  so 
wild.”  “You  are  right,”  said  Reinhold;  “It  is  only 
the  silly  way  I have  of  making  as  much  noise  as  a spoilt 
child  when  I conceive  I have  been  hurt.  You  can 
easily  imagine  that  I spoke  to  Rose  of  my  love  and  of 
her  father’s  good-will.  Then  the  tears  started  from  her 
eyes,  and  her  hand  trembled  in  mine.  Turning  her 


!36 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


face  away,  she  whispered,  ‘ I must  submit  to  my  father’s 
will  ’ — that  was  enough  for  me.  My  peculiar  resent- 
ment, dear  Frederick,  will  now  let  you  see  into  the 
depths  of  my  heart  ; I must  tell  you  that  my  striving 
to  win  Rose  was  a deception,  imposed  upon  me  by  my 
wandering  mind.  After  I had  finished  Rose’s  picture 
my  heart  grew  calm  ; and  often,  strange  enough,  I fan- 
cied that  Rose  was  now  the  picture,  and  that  the  pict- 
ure was  become  the  real  Rose.  I detested  my  former 
coarse,  rude  handiwork  ; and  when  I came  so  intimately 
into  contact  with  the  incidents  of  common  life,  getting 
one’s  ‘ mastership  ’ and  getting  married,  I felt  as  if  I 
were  going  to  be  confined  in  a dungeon  and  chained  to 
the  stocks.  How  indeed  can  the  divine  being  whom  I 
carry  in  my  heart  ever  be  my  wife?  No,  she  shall  for 
ever  stand  forth  glorious  in  youth,  grace,  and  beauty, 
in  the  pictures — the  masterpieces — which  my  restless 
spirit  shall  create.  Oh  ! how  I long  for  such  things ! 
How  came  I ever  to  turn  away  from  my  divine  art  ? O 
thou  glorious  land,  thou  home  of  Art,  soon  again  will  I 
revel  amidst  thy  cool  and  balmy  airs.”  The  friends 
had  reached  the  place  where  the  road  which  Reinhold 
intended  to  take  turned  to  the  left.  “ Here  we  will 
part,”  cried  Reinhold,  pressing  Frederick  to  his  heart 
in  a long  warm  embrace  ; then  he  threw  himself  upon 
horseback  and  galloped  away.  Frederick  stood  watch- 
ing him  without  uttering  a word,  and  then,  agitated  by 
the  most  unaccountable  feelings,  he  slowly  wended  his 
way  homewards. 

How  Frederick  was  driven  out  of  the  workshop  by 
Master  Martin. 

The  next  day  Master  Martin  was  working  away  at 
the  great  cask  for  the  Bishop  of  Bamberg  in  moody 
silence,  nor  could  Frederick,  who  now  felt  the  full 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


137 


bitterness  of  parting  from  Reinhold,  utter  a word  either, 
still  less  break  out  into  song.  At  last  Master  Martin 
threw  aside  his  mallet,  and  crossing  his  arms,  said  in  a 
muffled  voice,  “Well,  Reinhold’s  gone.  He  was  a dis- 
tinguished painter,  and  has  only  been  making  a fool  of 
me  with  his  pretence  of  being  a cooper.  Oh  ! that  I 
had  only  had  an  inkling  of  it  when  he  came  into  my 
house  along  with  you  and  bore  himself  so  smart  and 
clever,  wouldn’t  I just  have  shown  him  the  door  ! Such 
an  open  honest  face,  and  so  much  deceit  and  treachery 
in  his  mind!  Well,  he’s  gone,  and  now  you  will  faith- 
fully and  honestly  stick  to  me  and  my  handiwork. 
Who  knows  whether  you  may  not  become  something 
more  to  me  still — when  you  have  become  a skilful 
master  and  Rose  will  have  you — well,  you  understand 
me,  and  may  try  to  win  Rose’s  favour.”  Forthwith  he 
took  up  his  mallet  and  worked  away  lustily  again. 
Frederick  did  not  know  how  to  account  for  it,  but 
Master  Martin’s  words  rent  his  breast,  and  a strange 
feeling  of  anxiety  arose  in  his  mind,  obscuring  every 
glimmer  of  hope.  After  a long  interval  Rose  made  a 
first  appearance  again  in  the  workshop,  but  was  very 
reserved,  and,  as  Frederick  to  his  mortification  could 
see,  her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping.  She  has  been 
weeping  for  him,  she  does  love  him,  thus  he  said 
within  himself,  and  he  was  quite  unable  to  raise  his 
eyes  to  her  whom  he  loved  with  such  an  unutterable 
love. 

The  mighty  cask  was  finished,  and  now  Master  Mar- 
tin began  to  be  blithe  and  in  good  humour  again  as  he 
regarded  this  very  successful  piece  of  work.  “ Yes,  my 
son,”  said  he,  clapping  Frederick  on  the  shoulder, 
“ yes,  my  son,  I will  keep  my  word  : if  you  succeed  in 
winning  Rose’s  favour  and  build  a good  sound  master- 
piece, you  shall  be  my  son-in-law.  And  then  you  can 


i38  - 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


also  join  the  noble  guild  of  the  Meistersinger , and  so 
win  you  great  honour.” 

Master  Martin’s  business  now  increased  so  very 
greatly  that  he  had  to  engage  two  other  journeymen, 
clever  workmen,  but  rude  fellows,  quite  demoralised  by 
their  long  wanderings.  Coarse  jests  now  echoed  in  the 
workshop  instead  of  the  many  pleasant  talks  of  former 
days,  and  in  place  of  Frederick  and  Reinhold’s  agree- 
able singing  were  now  heard  low  and  obscene  ditties. 
Rose  shunned  the  workshop,  so  that  Frederick  saw  her 
but  seldom,  and  only  for  a few  moments  at  a time. 
And  then  when  he  looked  at  her  with  melancholy  long- 
ing and  sighed,  “Oh!  if  I might  talk  to  you  again, 
dear  Rose,  if  you  were  only  as  friendly  again  as  at  the 
time  when  Reinhold  was  still  with  us  !”  she  cast  down 
her  eyes  in  shy  confusion  and  whispered  “ Have  you 
something  to  tell  me,  dear  Frederick  ?”  And  Frederick 
stood  like  a statue,  unable  to  speak  a word,  and  the 
golden  opportunity  was  quickly  past,  like  a flash  of 
lightning  that  darts  across  the  dark  red  glow  of  the 
evening,  and  is  gone  almost  before  it  is  observed. 

Master  Martin  now  insisted  that  Frederick  should 
begin  his  masterpiece.  He  had  himself  sought  out  the 
finest,  purest  oak  wood,  without  the  least  vein  or  flaw, 
which  had  been  over  five  years  in  his  wood-store,  and 
nobody  was  to  help  Frederick  except  old  Valentine. 
Not  only  was  Frederick  put  more  and  more  out  of 
taste  with  his  work  by  the  rough  journeymen,  but  he 
felt  a tightness  in  his  throat  as  he  thought  that  this 
masterpiece  was  to  decide  over  his  whole  life  long. 
The  same  peculiar  feeling  of  anxiety  which  he  had 
experienced  when  Master  Martin  was  praising  his 
faithful  devotion  to  his  handiwork  now  grew  into  a 
more  and  more  distinct  shape  in  a quite  dreadful  way. 
He  now  knew  that  he  should  fail  miserably  and  dis- 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


139 


gracefully  in  his  work  ; his  mind,  now  once  more 
completely  taken  up  with  his  own  art,  was  fundament- 
ally averse  to  it.  He  could  not  forget  Reinhold  'and 
Rose’s  picture.  His  own  art  now  put  on  again  her 
full  glory  in  his  eyes.  Often  as  he  was  working,  the 
crushing  sense  of  the  unmanliness  of  his  conduct  quite 
overpowered  him,  and,  alleging  that  he  was  unwell,  he 
ran  off  to  St.  Sebald’s  Church.  There  he  spent  hours 
in  studying  Peter  Fischer’s  marvellous  monument, _and 
he  would  exclaim,  as  if  ravished  with  delight,  “ Oh, 
good  God  ! Is  there  anything  on  earth  more  glorious 
than  to  conceive  and  execute  such  a work  ? ” And 
when  he  had  to  go  back  again  to  his  staves  and  hoops, 
and  remembered  that  in  this  way  only  was  Rose  to  be 
won,  he  felt  as  if  burning  talons  were  rending  his 
bleeding  heart,  and  as  if  he  must  perish  in  the  midst 
of  his  unspeakable  agony.  Reinhold  often  came  to 
him  in  his  dreams  and  brought  him  striking  designs 
for  artistic  castings,  into  which  Rose’s  form  was  worked 
in  most  ingenious  ways,  now  as  a flower,  now  as  an 
angel,  with  little  wings.  But  there  was  always  some- 
thing wanting  ; he  discovered  that  it  was  Rose's  heart 
which  Reinhold  had  forgotten,  and  that  he  added  to 
the  design  himself.  Then  he  thought  he  saw  all  the 
flowers  and  leaves  of  the  work  move,  singing  and  dif- 
fusing their  sweet  fragrances,  and  the  precious  metals 
showed  him  Rose’s  likeness  in  their  glittering  surface. 
Then  he  stretched  out  his  arms  longingly  after  his 
beloved,  but  the  likeness  vanished  as  if  in  dim  mist, 
and  Rose  herself,  pretty  Rose,  pressed  him  to  her  loving 
heart  in  an  ecstasy  of  passionate  love. 

His  condition  with  respect  to  the  unfortunate  coop- 
erage grew  worse  and  worse,  and  more  and  more 
unbearable,  and  he  went  to  his  old  master  Johannes 
Holzschuer  to  seek  comfort  and  assistance.  He  allowed 


140 


MASTER  MART/A/. 


Frederick  to  begin  in  his  shop  a piece  of  work  which 
he,  Frederick,  had  thought  out  and  for  which  he  had 
for  some  time  been  saving  up  his  earnings,  so  that  he 
could  procure  the  necessary  gold  and  silver.  Thus  it 
happened  that  Frederick  was  scarcely  ever  at  work  in 
Martin’s  shop,  and  his  deathly  pale  face  gave  credence 
to  his  pretext  that  he  was  suffering  from  a consuming 
illness.  Months  went  past,  and  his  masterpiece,  his 
great  two-tun  cask,  was  not  advanced  any  further. 
Master  Martin  was  urgent  upon  him  that  he  should  at 
least  do  as  much  as  his  strength  would  allow,  and 
Frederick  really  saw  himself  compelled  to  go  to  the 
hated  cutting  block  again  and  take  the  adze  in  hand. 
Whilst  he  was  working,  Master  Martin  drew  near  and 
examined  the  staves  at  which  he  was  working  ; and 
he  got  quite  red  in  the  face  and  cried,  “What  do  you 
call  this  ? What  work  is  this,  Frederick  ? Has  a jour- 
neyman been  preparing  these  staves  for  his  ‘ mastership,’ 
or  a stupid  apprentice  who  only  put  his  nose  into  the 
workshop  three  days  ago  ? Pull  yourself  together,  lad  : 
what  devil  has  entered  into  you  that  you  are  making  a 
bungle  of  things  like  this  ? My  good  oak  wood, — and 
this  your  masterpiece  ! Oh  ! you  awkward,  imprudent 
boy  ! ” Overmastered  by  the  torture  and  agony  which 
raged  within  him,  Frederick  was  unable  to  contain 
himself  any  longer;  so,  throwing  the  adze  from  him 
he  said,  “ Master,  it’s  all  over  ; no,  even  though  it  cost 
me  my  life,  though  I perish  in  unutterable  misery,  I 
cannot  work  any  longer — no,  I cannot  work  any  longer 
at  this  coarse  trade.  An  irresistible  power  is  drawing 
me  back  to  my  own  glorious  art.  Your  daughter  Rose 
I love  unspeakably,  more  than  anybody  else  on  earth 
can  ever  love  her.  It  is  only  for  her  sake  that  I ever 
entered  upon  this  hateful  work.  I have  now  lost  her, 
I know,  and  shall  soon  die  of  grief  for  love  of  her ; but 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


141 

I can’t  help  it,  I must  go  back  to  my  own  glorious 
art,  to  my  excellent  old  master,  Johannes  Holzschuer, 
whom  I so  shamefully  deserted.”  Master  Martin’s  eyes 
blazed  like  flashing  candles.  Scarce  able  to  speak  for 
rage,  he  stammered,  “ What  ! you  too ! Deceit  and 
treachery ! Dupe  me  like  this ! coarse  trade — -cooper- 
age ! Out  of  my  eyes,  you  disgraceful  fellow  ; begone 
with  you  ! ” And  therewith  he  laid  hold  of  poor  Fred- 
erick by  the  shoulders  and  threw  him  out  of  the  shop, 
which  the  rude  journeymen  and  apprentices  greeted 
with  mocking  laughter.  But  old  Valentine  folded  his 
hands,  and  gazing  thoughtfully  before  him,  said,  “ I’ve 
noticed,  that  I have,  the  good  fellow  had  something 
higher  in  his  mind  than  our  casks.”  Dame  Martha 
shed  many  tears,  and  her  boys  cried  and  screamed  for 
Frederick,  who  had  often  played  kindly  with  them  and 
brought  them  several  lots  of  sweets. 

Conclusion. 

However  angry  Master  Martin  might  feel  towards 
Reinhold  and  Frederick,  he  could  not  but  admit  to 
himself  that  along  with  them  all  joy  and  all  pleasure 
had  disappeared  from  the  workshop.  Ever)'  day  he 
was  annoyed  and  provoked  by  the  new  journeymen. 
He  had  to  look  after  every  little  trifle,  and  it  cost  him 
no  end  of  trouble  and  exertion  to  get  even  the  smallest 
amount  of  work  done  to  his  mind.  Quite  tired  out 
with  the  cares  of  the  day,  he  often  sighed,  “ O Rein- 
hold! O Frederick  ! I wish  you  had  not  so  shamefully 
deceived  me,  I wish  you  had  been  good  coopers.” 
Things  at  last  got  so  bad  that  he  often  contemplated 
the  idea  of  giving  up  business  altogether. 

As  he  was  sitting  at  home  one  evening  in  one  of 
these  gloomy  moods,  Herr  Jacobus  Paumgartner  and 
along  with  him  Master  Johannes  Holzschuer  came  in 


142 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


quite  unexpectedly.  He  saw  at  once  that  they  were 
going  to  talk  about  Frederick  ; and  in  fact  Herr  Paum- 
gartner  very  soon  turned  the  conversation  upon  him, 
and  Master  Holzschuer  at  once  began  to  say  all  he 
could  in  praise  of  the  young  fellow.  It  was  his  opinion 
that  Frederick  with  his  industry  and  his  gifts  would 
certainly  not  only  make  an  excellent  goldsmith,  but 
also  a most  admirable  art-caster,  and  would  tread  in 
Peter  Fischer’s  footsteps.  And  now  Herr  Paumgartner 
began  to  reproach  Master  Martin  in  no  gentle  terms 
for  his  unkind  treatment  of  his  poor  journeyman  Fred- 
erick, and  they  both  urged  him  to  give  Rose  to  the 
young  fellow  to  wife  when  he  was  become  a skilful 
goldsmith  and  caster, — that  is,  of  course,  in  case  she 
looked  with  favour  upon  him, — for  his  affection  for  her 
tingled  in  every  vein  he  had.  Master  Martin  let  them 
have  their  say  out,  then  he  doffed  his  cap  and  said, 
smiling,  “ That’s  right,  my  good  sirs,  I’m  glad  you  stand 
up  so  bravely  for  the  journeyman  who  so  shamefully 
deceived  me.  That,  however,  I will  forgive  him  ; but 
don’t  ask  that  I should  alter  my  fixed  resolve  for  his 
sake  ; Rose  can  never  be  anything  to  him.”  At  this 
moment  Rose  entered  the  room,  pale  and  with  eyes  red 
with  weeping,  and  she  silently  placed  wine  and  glasses 
on  the  table.  “Well  then,”  began  Herr  Holzschuer, 
“ I must  let  poor  Frederick  have  his  own  way ; he 
wants  to  leave  home  for  ever.  He  has  done  a beautiful 
piece  of  work  at  my  shop,  which,  if  you,  my  good 
master,  will  allow,  he  will  present  to  Rose  as  a keep- 
sake ; look  at  it.”  Whereupon  Master  Holzschuer 
produced  a small  artistically-chased  silver  cup,  and 
handed  it  to  Master  Martin,  who,  a great  lover  of 
costly  vessels  and  such  like,  took  it  and  examined  it 
on  all  sides  with  much  satisfaction.  And  indeed  a 
more  splendid  piece  of  silver  work  than  this  little  cup 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


143 


could  hardly  be  seen.  Delicate  chains  of  vine-leaves 
and  roses  were  intertwined  round  about  it,  and  pretty 
angels  peeped  up  out  of  the  roses  and  the  bursting 
buds,  whilst  within,  on  the  gilded  bottom  of  the  cup, 
were  engraved  angels  lovingly  caressing  each  other. 
And  when  the  clear  bright  wine  was  poured  into  the 
cup,  the  little  angels  seemed  to  dance  up  and  down  as 
if  playing  prettily  together.  “ It  is  indeed  an  elegant 
piece  of  work,”  said  Master  Martin,  “and  I will  keep  it 
if  Frederick  will  take  the  double  of  what  it  is  worth  in 
good  gold  pieces.”  Thus  speaking,  he  filled  the  cup 
and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  At  this  moment  the  door  was 
softly  opened,  and  Frederick  stepped  in,  his  counte- 
nance pale  and  stamped  with  the  bitter,  bitter  pain  of 
separating  for  ever  from  her  he  held  dearest  on  earth. 
As  soon  as  Rose  saw  him  she  uttered  a loud  piercing 
cry,  “O  my  dearest  Frederick  !”  and  fell  almost  faint- 
ing on  his  breast.  Master  Martin  set  down  the  cup, 
and  on  seeing  Rose  in  Frederick’s  arms  opened  his 
eyes  wide  as  if  he  saw  a ghost.  Then  he  again  took  up 
the  cup  without  speaking  a word,  and  looked  into  it ; 
but  all  at  once  he  leapt  from  his  seat  and  cried  in  a 
loud  voice,  “Rose,  Rose,  do  you  love  Frederick?” 
“ Oh  ! ” whispered  Rose,  “ I cannot  any  longer  conceal 
it,  I love  him  as  I love  my  own  life  ; my  heart  nearly 
broke  when  you  sent  him  away.”  “Then  embrace 
your  betrothed,  Frederick  ; yes,  yes,  your  betrothed, 
Frederick,”  cried  Master  Martin.  Paumgartner  and 
Holzschuer  looked  at  each  other  utterly  bewildered 
with  astonishment,  but  Master  Martin,  holding  the  cup 
in  his  hand,  went  on,  “ By  the  good  God,  has  it  not  all 
come  to  pass  as  the  old  lady  prophesied  ? — 

‘A  vessel  fair  to  see  he’ll  bring, 

In  which  the  spicy  liquid  foams, 

And  bright,  bright  angels  gaily  sing. 


144 


MASTE/?  MARTIN. 


. . . The  vessel  fair  with  golden  grace, 

Lo  ! him  who  brings  it  in  the  house, 

Thou  wilt  reward  with  sweet  embrace, 

And,  an  thy  lover  be  but  true, 

Thou  need’st  not  wait  thy  father’s  kiss.’ 

O stupid  fool  I have  been  ! Here  is  the  vessel  fair  to 
see,  the  angels — the  lover — Ay  ! ay  ! gentlemen  ; it’s 
all  right  now,  all  right  now  ; my  son-in-latv  is  found.” 
Whoever  has  had  his  mind  ever  confused  by  a bad 
dream,  so  that  he  thought  he  was  lying  in  the  deep 
cold  blackness  of  the  grave,  and  suddenly  he  awakens 
in  the  midst  of  the  bright  spring-tide  full  of  fragrance 
and  sunshine  and  song,  and  she  whom  he  holds  dearest 
on  earth  has  come  to  him  and  has  cast  her  arms  about 
him,  and  he  can  look  up  into  the  heaven  of  her  lovely 
face, — whoever  has  at  any  time  experienced  this  will 
understand  Frederick’s  feelings,  will  comprehend  his 
exceeding  great  happiness.  Unable  to  speak  a word, 
he  held  Rose  tightly  clasped  in  his  arms  as  though  he 
would  never  let  her  leave  him,  until  she  at  length  gently 
disengaged  herself  and  led  him  to  her  father.  Then 
he  found  his  voice,  “ O my  dear  master,  is  it  all  really 
true  ? You  will  give  me  Rose  to  wife,  and  I may  go 
back  to  my  art?”  “Yes,  yes,”  said  Master  Martin, 
“you  may  in  truth  believe  it ; can  I do  any  other  since 
you  have  fulfilled  my  old  grandmother’s  prophecy  ? 
You  need  not  now  of  course  go  on  with  your  master- 
piece.” Then  Frederick,  perfectly  radiant  with  delight, 
smiled  and  said,  “No,  my  dear  master,  if  it  be  pleasing 
to  you  I will  now  gladly  and  in  good  spirits  finish  my 
big  cask — my  last  piece  of  work  in  cooperage — and 
then  I will  go  back  to  the  melting-furnace.”  “Yes, 
my  good  brave  son,”  replied  Master  Martin,  his  eyes 
sparkling  with  joy,  “ yes,  finish  your  masterpiece,  and 
then  we’ll  have  the  wedding.” 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


HS 


Frederick  kept  his  word  faithfully,  and  finished  the 
two-tun  cask  ; and  all  the  masters  declared  that  it 
would  be  no  easy  task  to  do  a finer  piece  of  work, 
whereat  Master  Martin  was  delighted  down  to  the 
ground,  and  was  moreover  of  opinion  that  Providence 
could  not  have  found  for  him  a more  excellent  son-in- 
law. 

At  length  the  wedding  day  was  come,  Frederick’s 
masterpiece  stood  in  the  entrance  hall  filled  with  rich 
wine,  and  crowned  with  garlands.  The  masters  of  the 
trade,  with  the  syndic  Jacobus  Paumgartner  at  their 
head,  put  in  an  appearance  along  with  their  house- 
wives, followed  by  the  master  goldsmiths.  All  was 
ready  for  the  procession  to  begin  its  march  to  St. 
Sebald's  Church,  where  the  pair  were  to  be  married, 
when  a sound  of  trumpets  was  heard  in  the  street, 
and  a neighing  and  stamping  of  horses  before  Martin's 
house.  Master  Martin  hastened  to  the  bay-window. 
It  was  Herr  Heinrich  von  Spangenberg,  in  gay  holiday 
attire,  who  had  pulled  up  in  front  of  the  house  ; a few 
paces  behind  him,  on  a high-spirited  horse,  sat  a 
young  and  splendid  knight,  his  glittering  sword  at  his 
side,  and  high-coloured  feathers  in  his  baretta,  which 
was  also  adorned  with  flashing  jewels.  Beside  the 
knight,  Herr  Martin  perceived  a wondrously  beautiful 
lady,  likewise  splendidly  dressed,  seated  on  a jennet 
the  colour  of  fresh-fallen  snow.  Pages  and  attendants 
in  brilliant  coats  formed  a circle  round  about  them. 
The  trumpet  ceased,  and  old  Herr  von  Spangenberg 
shouted  up  to  him,  “Aha!  aha!  Master  Martin,  I 
have  not  come  either  for  your  wine  cellar  or  for  your 
gold  pieces,  but  only  because  it  is  Rose’s  wedding  day. 
Will  you  let  me  in,  good  master?”  Master  Martin 
remembered  his  own  words  very  well,  and  was  a little 
ashamed  of  himself  ; but  he  hurried  down  to  receive 
Vol.  II.— IO 


146 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


the  Junker.  The  old  gentleman  dismounted,  and  after 
greeting  him,  entered  the  house.  Some  of  the  pages 
sprang  forward,  and  upon  their  arms  the  lady  slipped 
down  from  her  palfrey  ; the  knight  gave  her  his  hand 
and  followed  the  old  gentleman.  But  when  Master 
Martin  looked  at  the  young  knight  he  recoiled  three 
paces,  struck  his  hands  together,  and  cried,  “ Good 
God!  Conrad!”  “Yes,  Master  Martin,”  said  the 
knight,  smiling,  “ I am  indeed  your  journeyman  Con- 
rad. Forgive  me  for  the  wound  I inflicted  on  you. 
But  you  see,  my  good  master,  that  I ought  properly 
to  have  killed  you  ; but  things  have  now  all  turned 
out  different.”  Greatly  confused,  Master  Martin  replied, 
that  it  was  after  all  better  that  he  had  not  been  killed  ; 
of  the  little  bit  of  a cut  with  the  adze  he  had  made  no 
account.  Now  when  Master  Martin  with  his  new 
guests  entered  the  room  where  the  bridal  pair  and  the 
rest  were  assembled,  they  were  all  agreeably  surprised 
at  the  beautiful  lady,  who  was  so  exactly  like  the  bride, 
even  down  to  the  minutest  feature,  that  they  might 
have  been  taken  for  twin-sisters.  The  knight  ap- 
proached the  bride  with  courtly  grace  and  said,  “ Grant, 

0 lovely  Rose,  that  Conrad  be  present  here  on  this 
auspicious  day.  You  are  not  now  angry  with  the  wild 
thoughtless  journeyman  who  was  nigh  bringing  a great 
trouble  upon  you,  are  you  ?”  But  as  the  bridegroom 
and  the  bride  and  Master  Martin  were  looking  at  each 
other  in  great  wonder  and  embarrassment,  old  Herr 
von  Spangenberg  said,  “Well,  well,  I see  I must  help 
you  out  of  your  dream.  This  is  my  son  Conrad,  and 
here  is  his  good,  true  wife,  named  Rose,  like  the  lovely 
bride.  Call  our  conversation  to  mind,  Master  Martin. 

1 had  a very  special  reason  for  asking  you  whether  you 
would  refuse  your  Rose  to  my  son.  The  young  puppy 
was  madly  in  love  with  her,  and  he  induced  me  to  lay 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


147 


aside  all  other  considerations  and  make  up  my  mind  to 
come  and  woo  her  on  his  behalf.  But  when  I told  him 
in  what  an  uncourteous  way  I had  been  dismissed,  he 
in  the  most  nonsensical  way  stole  into  your  house  in 
the  guise  of  a cooper,  intending  to  win  her  favour  and 
then  actually  to  run  away  with  her.  But — you  cured 
him  with  that  good  sound  blow  across  his  back  ; my 
best  thanks  for  it.  And  now  he  has  found  a lady  of 
rank  who  most  likely  is,  after  all,  the  Rose  who  was 
properly  in  his  heart  from  the  beginning.” 

Meanwhile  the  lady  had  with  graceful  kindness 
greeted  the  bride,  and  hung  a valuable  pearl  necklace 
round  her  neck  as  a wedding  present.  “ See  here,  dear 
Rose,”  she  then  said,  taking  a very  withered  bunch  of 
flowers  out  from  amongst  the  fresh  blooming  ones 
which  she  wore  at  her  bosom — “ see  here,  dear  Rose, 
these  are  the  flowers  that  you  once  gave  my  Conrad  as 
the  prize  of  victory  ; he  kept  them  faithfully  until  he 
saw  me,  then  he  was  unfaithful  to  you  and  gave  them 
to  me  ; don’t  be  angry  with  me  for  it.”  Rose,  her 
cheeks  crimson,  cast  down  her  eyes  in  shy  confusion, 
saying,  “Oh  ! noble  lady,  how  can  you  say  so  ? Could 
the  Junker  then  ever  really  love  a poor  maiden  like 
me  ? You  alone  were  his  love,  and  it  was  only  because 
I am  called  Rose,  and,  as  they  say  here,  something  like 
you,  that  he  wooed  me,  all  the  while  thinking  it  was 
you.” 

A second  time  the  procession  was  about  to  set  out, 
when  a young  man  entered  the  room,  dressed  in  the 
Italian  style,  all  in  black  slashed  velvet,  with  an  elegant 
lace  collar  and  rich  golden  chains  of  honour  hanging 
from  his  neck.  “ O Reinhold,  my  Reinhold  ! ” cried 
Frederick,  throwing  himself  upon  the  young  man’s 
breast.  The  bride  and  Master  Martin  also  cried  out 
excitedly,  “Reinhold,  our  brave  Reinhold  is  come!” 


148 


MASTER  MARTIN. 


“Did  I not  tell  you,”  said  Reinhold,  returning  Freder- 
ick’s embrace  with  warmth, — “ did  I not  tell  you,  my 
dear,  dear  friend,  that  things  might  turn  out  gloriously 
for  you  ? Let  me  celebrate  your  wedding  day  with 
you  ; I have  come  a long  way  on  purpose  to  do  so  ; 
and  as  a lasting  memento  hang  up  in  your  house  the 
picture  which  I have  painted  for  you  and  brought  with 
me.”  And  then  he  called  down  to  his  two  servants, 
who  brought  in  a large  picture  in  a magnificent  gold 
frame.  It  represented  Master  Martin  in  his  workshop 
along  with  his  journeymen  Reinhold,  Frederick,  and 
Conrad  working  at  the  great  cask,  and  lovely  Rose  was 
just  entering  the  shop.  Everybody  was  astonished  at 
the  truth  and  magnificent  colouring  of  the  piece  as  a 
work  of  art.  “Ay,”  said  Frederick,  smiling,  “that  is, 
I suppose,  your  masterpiece  as  cooper  ; mine  is  below 
yonder  in  the  entrance-hall  ; but  I shall  soon  make 
another.”  “ I know  all,”  replied  Reinhold,  “ and  rate 
you  lucky.  Only  stick  fast  to  your  art ; it  can  put  up 
with  more  domesticity  and  such-like  than  mine.” 

At  the  marriage  feast  Frederick  sat  between  the 
two  Roses,  and  opposite  him  Master  Martin  between 
Conrad  and  Reinhold.  Then  Herr  Paumgartner  filled 
Frederick’s  cup  up  to  the  brim  with  rich  wine,  and 
drank  to  the  weal  of  Master  Martin  and  his  brave 
journeymen.  The  cup  went  round  ; and  first  it  was 
drained  by  the  noble  Junker  Heinrich  von  Spangen- 
berg, and  after  him  by  all  the  worthy  masters  wrho  sat 
at  the  table — to  the  weal  of  Master  Martin  and  his 
brave  journeymen. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERL 


A TALE  OF  THE  TIMES  OF  LOUIS  XIV. 

THE  little  house  in  which  lived  Madeleine  de  Scu- 
deri,1  well  known  for  her  pleasing  verses,  and  the 
favour  of  Louis  XIV.  and  the  Marchioness  de  Mainte- 
non,  was  situated  in  the  Rue  St.  Honoree. 

One  night  almost  at  midnight — it  would  be  about 
the  autumn  of  the  year  1680 — there  came  such  a loud 
and  violent  knocking  at  the  door  of  her  house  that  it 
made  the  whole  entrance-passage  ring  again.  Baptiste, 
who  in  the  lady’s  small  household  discharged  at  one 
and  the  same  time  the  offices  of  cook,  footman,  and 
porter,  had  with  his  mistress’s  permission  gone  into 
the  country  to  attend  his  sister’s  wedding  ; and  thus  it 
happened  that  La  Martiniere,  Mademoiselle’s  lady- 
maid,  was  alone,  and  the  only  person  awake  in  the 
house.  The  knockings  were  repeated.  She  suddenly 
remembered  that  Baptiste  had  gone  for  his  holiday, 
and  that  she  and  her  mistress  were  left  in  the  house 


1 Madeleine  de  Scudery  (1607-1701),  a native  of  Normandy,  went 
to  Paris  and  became  connected  with  the  Hotel  Rambouillet.  After- 
wards, on  its  being  broken  up  by  the  troubles  of  the  Fronde,  she 
formed  a literary  circle  of  her  own,  their  “ Saturday  gatherings  ” be- 
coming celebrated.  Mademoiselle  de  Scudery  wrote  some  vapid  and 
tedious  novels,  amongst  which  were  the  Clelie  (1656),  an  historical  ro- 
mance, to  be  mentioned  presently  in  the  text. 


I5° 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDfiRI. 


without  any  further  protection.  All  the  outrages — 
burglaries,  thefts,  and  murders — which  were  then  so 
common  m Paris,  crowded  upon  her  mind  ; she  was 
sure  it  was  a band  of  cut-throats  who  were  making  all 
this  disturbance  outside  ; they  must  be  well  aware  how 
lonely  the  house  stood,  and  if  let  in  would  perpetrate 
some  wicked  deed  against  her  mistress  ; and  so  she 
remained  in  her  room,  trembling  and  quaking  with 
fear,  and  cursing  Baptiste  and  his  sister’s  wedding  as 
well. 

Meanwhile  the  hammering  at  the  door  was  being 
continued  ; and  she  fancied  she  heard  a voice  shouting 
at  intervals,  “ Oh  ! do  open  the  door  ! For  God’s  sake, 
do  open  the  door ! ” At  last  La  Martiniere’s  anxiety 
rose  to  such  a pitch  that,  taking  up  the  lighted  candle, 
she  ran  out  into  the  passage.  There  she  heard  quite 
plainly  the  voice  of  the  person  knocking,  “ For  God’s 
sake ! do  open  the  door,  please  ! ” “ Certainly,” 

thought  she,  “ that  surely  is  not  the  way  a robber 
would  knock.  Who  knows  whether  it  is  not  some 
poor  man  being  pursued  and  wants  protection  from 
Mademoiselle,  who  is  always  ready  to  do  an  act  of 
kindness  ? But  let  us  be  cautious.”  Opening  a 
window,  she  called  out,  asking  who  was  down  there 
making  such  a loud  noise  at  the  house-door  so  late  at 
night,  awakening  everybody  up  out  of  their  sleep  ; and 
she  endeavoured  to  give  her  naturally  deep  voice  as 
manly  a tone  as  she  possibly  could. 

By  the  glimmer  of  the  moon,  which  now  broke 
through  the  dark  clouds,  she  could  make  out  a tall 
figure,  enveloped  in  a light-grey  mantle,  having  his 
broad-brimmed  hat  pulled  down  right  over  his  eyes. 
Then  she  shouted  in  a loud  voice,  so  as  to  be  heard  by 
the  man  below,  “ Baptiste,  Claude,  Pierre,  get  up  and 
go  and  see  who  this  good-for-nothing  vagabond  is, 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


ISI 

who  is  trying  to  break  into  the  house.”  But  the  voice 
from  below  made  answer  gently,  and  in  a tone  that 
had  a plaintive  ring  in  it,  “ Oh  ! La  Martiniere,  I 
know  quite  well  that  it  is  you,  my  good  woman, 
however  much  you  try  to  disguise  your  voice  ; I also 
know  that  Baptiste  has  gone  into  the  country,  and 
that  you  are  alone  in  the  house  with  your  mistress. 
You  may  confidently  undo  the  door  for  me  ; you  need 
have  no  fear.  For  I must  positively  speak  with  your 
mistress,  and  this  very  minute.”  “ Whatever  are  you 
thinking  about  ? ” replied  La  Martiniere.  “You  want 
to  speak  to  Mademoiselle  in  the  middle  of  the  night  ? 
Don’t  you  know  that  she  has  been  gone  to  bed  a long 
time,  and  that  for  no  price  would  I wake  her  up  out 
of  her  first  sound  sleep,  which  at  her  time  of  life  she 
has  so  much  need  of  ? ” The  person  standing  below 
said,  “ But  I know  that  your  mistress  has  only  just 
laid  aside  her  new  romance  Clelie,  at  which  she  labours 
so  unremittingly  ; and  she  is  now  writing  certain 
verses  which  she  intends  to  read  to  the  Marchioness 
de  Maintenon 1 to-morrow.  I implore  you,  Madame 
Martiniere,  have  pity  and  open  me  the  door.  I tell 
you  the  matter  involves  the  saving  of  an  unfortunate 
man  from  ruin, — that  the  honour,  freedom,  nay,  that 
the  life  of  a man  is  dependent  upon  this  moment,  and 
I must  speak  to  Mademoiselle.  Recollect  how  your 
mistress’s  anger  would  rest  upon  you  for  ever,  if  she 
learned  that  you  had  had  the  hard-heartedness  to  turn 
an  unfortunate  man  away  from  her  door  when  he  came 
to  supplicate  her  assistance.”  “ But  why  do  you  come 
to  appeal  to  my  mistress’s  compassion  at  this  unusual 
hour  ? Come  again  early  in  the  morning,”  said  La 


1 The  well-known  wife  of  Scarron,  then  the  successor  of  Madame  de 
Montespan  in  the  favour  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  afterwards  his  wife. 


I52 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


Martiniere.  The  person  below  replied,  “ Does  Destiny, 
then,  heed  times  and  hours  when  it  strikes,  like  the 
fatal  flash,  fraught  with  destruction  ? When  there  is 
but  a single  moment  longer  in  which  rescue  is  still 
possible,  ought  assistance  to  be  delayed  ? Open  me 
the  door  ; you  need  have  nothing  to  fear  from  a poor 
defenceless  wretch,  who  is  deserted  of  all  the  world, 
pursued  and  distressed  by  an  awful  fate,  when  he  comes 
to  beseech  Mademoiselle  to  save  him  from  threaten- 
ing danger  ? ” La  Martiniere  heard  the  man  below 
moaning  and  sobbing  with  anguish  as  he  said  these 
words,  and  at  the  same  time  the  voice  was  the  voice 
of  a young  man,  gentle,  and  gifted  with  the  power 
of  appealing  straight  to  the  heart.  She  was  greatly 
touched  ; without  much  further  deliberation  she 
fetched  the  keys. 

But  hardly  had  she  got  the  door  opened  when  the 
figure  enveloped  in  the  mantle  burst  tumultuously  in, 
and  striding  past  Martiniere  into  the  passage,  cried 
wildly,  “ Lead  me  to  your  mistress ! ” In  terror 
Martiniere  lifted  up  the  candle,  and  its  light  fell  upon 
a young  man’s  face,  deathly  pale  and  fearfully  agitated. 
Martiniere  almost  dropped  on  the  floor  with  fright,  for 
the  man  now  threw  open  his  mantle  and  showed  the 
bright  hilt  of  a stiletto  sticking  out  of  the  bosom  of 
his  doublet.  His  eyes  flashed  fire  as  he  fixed  them 
upon  her,  crying  still  more  wildly  than  before,  “ Lead 
me  to  your  mistress,  I tell  you.”  Martiniere  now 
believed  Mademoiselle  was  in  the  most  imminent 
danger  ; and  her  affection  for  her  beloved  mistress, 
whom  she  honoured,  moreover,  as  her  good  and 
faithful  mother,  burnt  up  stronger  in  her  heart, 
enkindling  a courage  which  she  had  not  conceived 
herself  capable  of  showing.  Hastily  pulling  to  the 
door  of  her  chamber,  which  she  had  left  standing  open, 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD  & RI. 


*53 


she  planted  herself  before  it,  and  said  in  a strong  firm 
voice,  “ I tell  you  what,  your  mad  behaviour  in  the 
house  here,  corresponds  but  ill  with  your  plaintive 
words  outside  ; I see  clearly  that  I let  my  pity  be 
excited  on  a wrong  occasion.  You  neither  ought  to, 
nor  shall  you,  speak  to  my  mistress  now.  If  your 
intentions  are  not  evil,  you  need  not  fear  daylight  ; so 
come  again  to-morrow  and  state  your  business  then. 
Now,  begone  with  you  out  of  the  house.”  The  man 
heaved  a deep  and  painful  sigh,  and  fixing  Martiniere 
with  a formidable  look,  grasped  his  stiletto.  She 
silently  commended  her  soul  to  Heaven,  but  manfully 
stood  her  ground,  and  boldly  met  the  man’s  gaze,  at 
the  same  time  drawing  herself  closer  to  the  door,  for 
through  it  the  man  would  have  to  go  to  get  to  her 
mistress’s  chamber.  “ Let  me  go  to  your  mistress,  I 
tell  you  ! ” cried  the  man  again.  “ Do  what  you  will,” 
replied  Martiniere,  “ I shall  not  stir  from  this  place. 
Go  on  and  finish  your  wicked  deed  ; but  remember 
that  you  also  will  die  a shameful  death  at  the  Place 
Greve,  like  your  atrocious  partners  in  crime.”  “Ah! 
yes,  you  are  right,  La  Martiniere,”  replied  the  man, 
“ I do  look  like  a villainous  robber  and  cut-throat,  and 
am  armed  like  one,  but  my  partners  have  not  been 
executed, — no,  not  yet.”  Therewith,  hurling  looks  of 
furious  wrath  at  the  poor  woman,  who  was  almost 
dead  with  terror,  he  drew  his  stiletto.  “ O God  ! O 
God  ! ” she  exclaimed,  expecting  her  death-blow  ; but 
at  this  moment  there  was  heard  a rattle  of  arms  in  the 
street,  and  the  hoof-strokes  of  horses.  “ The  Mare- 
chaussee  ! 1 the  Marechausse e ! Help  ! Help  ! ” screamed 
Martiniere.  “You  abominable  woman,  you  are  de- 
termined to  ruin  me.  All  is  lost  now — it’s  all  over. 


1 A kind  of  mounted  gensdarmes  or  police. 


154 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


But  here,  here — take  this.  Give  that  to  your  mistress 
this  very  night — to-morrow  if  you  like.”  Whispering 
these  words,  he  snatched  the  light  from  La  Mar- 
tiniere, extinguished  it,  and  then  forced  a casket  into 
her  hands.  “ By  your  hopes  of  salvation,  I conjure 
you,  give  this  casket  to  Mademoiselle,”  cried  the  man  ; 
and  he  rushed  out  of  the  house. 

Martiniere  fell  to  the  floor  ; at  length  she  rose  up 
with  difficulty,  and  groped  her  way  back  in  the  darkness 
to  her  own  room,  where  she  sank  down  in  an  arm-chair 
completely  exhausted,  unable  to  utter  a sound.  Then 
she  heard  the  keys  rattle,  which  she  had  left  in  the  lock 
of  the  street-door.  The  door  was  closed  and  locked, 
and  she  heard  cautious,  uncertain  footsteps  approach- 
ing her  room.  She  sat  riveted  to  the  chair  without 
power  to  move,  expecting  something  terrible  to  happen. 
But  her  sensations  may  be  imagined  when  the  door 
opened,  and  by  the  light  of  the  night-taper  she  recog- 
nised at  the  first  glance  that  it  was  honest  Baptiste, 
looking  very  pale  and  greatly  troubled.  “ In  the  name 
of  all  the  saints!”  he  began,  “tell  me,  Dame  Martin- 
iere, what  has  happened  ? Oh  ! the  anxiety  and  fear 
I have  had  ! I don’t  know  what  it  was,  but  something 
drove  me  away  from  the  wedding  last  evening.  I 
couldn’t  help  myself  ; I had  to  come.  On  getting  into 
our  street,  I thought,  Dame  Martiniere  sleeps  lightly, 
she’ll  be  sure  to  hear  me,  thinks  I,  if  I tap  softly  and 
gently  at  the  door,  and  will  come  out  and  let  me  in. 
Then  there  comes  a strong  patrol  on  horseback  as  well 
as  on  foot,  all  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  they  stop  me  and 
won’t  let  me  go  on.  But  luckily  Desgrais  the  lieuten- 
ant of  the  Marlc/uiusstfe,  is  amongst  them,  who  knows 
me  quite  well  ; and  wThen  they  put  their  lanterns  under 
my  nose,  he  says,  ‘ Why,  Baptiste,  where  are  you  com- 
ing from  at  this  time  o’  night  ? You’d  better  stay 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD&RL 


155 


quietly  in  the  house  and  take  care  of  it.  There’s  some 
deviltry  at  work,  and  we  are  hoping  to  make  a good 
capture  to-night.’  You  wouldn’t  believe  how  heavy 
these  words  fell  on  my  heart,  Dame  Martiniere.  And 
then  when  I put  my  foot  on  the  threshold,  there  comes 
a man,  all  muffled  up,  rushing  out  of  the  house  with  a 
drawn  dagger  in  his  hand,  and  he  runs  over  me — head 
over  heels.  The  door  was  open,  and  the  keys  sticking 
in  the  lock.  Oh  ! tell  me  what  it  all  means.”  Mar- 
tiniere, relieved  of  her  terrible  fear  and  anxiety,  related 
all  that  had  taken  place. 

Then  she  and  Baptiste  went  out  into  the  passage,  and 
there  they  found  the  candlestick  lying  on  the  floor 
where  the  stranger  had  thrown  it  as  he  ran  away.  “ It 
is  only  too  certain,"  said  Baptiste,  “that  our  Mademoi- 
selle would  have  been  robbed,  ay,  and  even  murdered, 
I make  no  doubt.  The  fellow  knew,  as  you  say,  that 
you  were  alone  with  Mademoiselle, — why,  he  also  knew 
that  she  was  awake  with  her  writings.  I would  bet 
anything  it  was  one  of  those  cursed  rogues  and  thieves 
who  force  their  way  right  into  the  houses,  cunningly 
spying  out  everything  that  may  be  of  use  to  them  in 
carrying  out  their  infernal  plans.  And  as  for  that  little 
casket,  Dame  Martiniere — I think  we’d  better  throw  it 
into  the  Seine  where  it’s  deepest.  Who  can  answer  for 
it  that  there’s  not  some  wicked  monster  got  designs  on 
our  good  lady’s  life,  and  that  if  she  opens  the  box  she 
won’t  fall  down  dead  like  old  Marquis  de  Tournay  did, 
when  he  opened  a letter  that  came  from  somebody  he 
didn’t  know  ? ” 

After  a long  consultation  the  two  faithful  souls  made 
up  their  minds  to  tell  their  mistress  everything  next 
morning,  and  also  to  place  the  mysterious  casket  in  her 
hands,  for  of  course  it  could  be  opened  with  proper 
precautions.  After  minutely  weighing  every  circum- 


156 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


stance  connected  with  the  suspicious  stranger’s  appear, 
ance,  they  were  both  of  the  same  opinion,  namely,  that 
there  was  some  special  mystery  connected  with  the 
matter,  which  they  durst  not  attempt  to  control  single- 
handed  ; they  must  leave  it  to  their  good  lady  to  un- 
riddle. 

Baptiste’s  apprehensions  were  well  founded.  Just 
at  that  time  Paris  was  the  scene  of  the  most  abomina- 
ble atrocities,  and  exactly  at  the  same  period  the  most 
diabolical  invention  of  Satan  was  made,  to  offer  the 
readiest  means  for  committing  these  deeds. 

Glaser,  a German  apothecary,  the  best  chemist  of  his 
age,  had  busied  himself,  as  people  of  his  profession 
were  in  the  habit  of  doing,  with  alchemistical  experi- 
ments. He  had  made  it  the  object  of  his  endeavour  to 
discover  the  Philosopher’s  Stone.  His  coadjutor  was 
an  Italian  of  the  name  of  Exili.  But  this  man  only 
practised  alchemy  as  a blind.  His  real  object  was  to 
learn  all  about  the  mixing  and  decoction  and  sublimat- 
ing of  poisonous  compounds,  by  which  Glaser  on  his 
part  hoped  to  make  his  fortune  ; and  at  last  he  suc- 
ceeded in  fabricating  that  subtle  poison  1 2 that  is  with- 
out smell  and  without  taste,  that  kills  either  on  the 
spot  or  gradually  and  slowly,  without  ever  leaving  the 
slightest  trace  in  the  human  body,  and  that  deceives 
all  the  skill  and  art  of  the  physicians,  since,  not  sus- 
pecting the  presence  of  poison,  they  fail  not  to  ascribe 
the  death  to  natural  causes.  Circumspectly  as  Exili  1 
went  to  work,  he  nevertheless  fell  under  the  suspicion 
of  being  a seller  of  poison,  and  was  thrown  into  the 
Bastille.  Soon  afterwards  Captain  Godin  de  Sainte 
Croix  was  confined  in  the  same  dungeon.  This  man 


1 Supposed  to  have  been  arsenic. 

2 These  facts  are  all  for  the  most  part  historically  true. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


157 


had  for  a long  time  been  living  in  relations  with  the 
Marchioness  de  Brinvillier,1  which  brought  disgrace  on 
all  the  family  ; so  at  last,  as  the  Marquis  continued  in- 
different to  his  wife’s  shameful  conduct,  her  father, 
Dreux  d’Aubray,  Civil  Lieutenant  of  Paris,  compelled  the 
guilty  pair  to  part  by  means  of  a warrant  which  was 
executed  upon  the  Captain.  Passionate,  unprincipled, 
hypocritically  feigning  to  be  pious,  and  yet  inclined 
from  his  youth  up  to  all  kinds  of  vice,  jealous,  revenge- 
ful even  to  madness,  the  Captain  could  not  have  met 
with  any  more  welcome  information  than  that  contained 
in  Exili’s  diabolical  secret,  since  it  would  give  him  the 
power  to  annihilate  all  his  enemies.  He  became  an 
eager  scholar  of  Exili,  and  soon  came  to  be  as  clever 
as  his  master,  so  that,  on  being  liberated  from  the  Bas- 
tille, he  was  in  a position  to  work  on  unaided. 

Before  an  abandoned  woman,  De  Brinvillier  became 
through  Sainte  Croix’s  instrumentality  a monster.  He 
contrived  to  induce  her  to  poison  successively  her  own 
father,  with  whom  she  was  living,  tending  with  heart- 
less hypocrisy  his  declining  days,  and  then  her  two 
brothers,  and  finally  her  sister, — her  father  out  of  re- 
venge, and  the  others  on  account  of  the  rich  family  in- 
heritance. From  the  histories  of  several  poisoners  we 
have  terrible  examples  how  the  commission  of  crimes 
of  this  class  becomes  at  last  an  all-absorbing  passion. 
Often,  without  any  further  purpose  than  the  mere  vile 
pleasure  of  the  thing,  just  as  chemists  make  experi- 
ments for  their  own  enjoyment,  have  poisoners  de- 
stroyed persons  whose  life  or  death  must  have  been  to 
them  a matter  of  perfect  indifference. 

1 Marie  M.  d’Aubray,  Marquise  de  Brinvilliers,  a notorious  poisoner, 
executed  July  16,  1676.  Madame  de  Sevigne’s  Lettres  contain  inter- 
esting information  on  the  events  of  this  period.  A special  history  of 
De  Brinvillier’ s trial  was  also  published  in  the  same  year,  1676. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDpRI. 


158 

The  sudden  decease  of  several  poor  people  in  the 
Hotel  Dieu  some  time  afterwards  excited  the  suspicion 
that  the  bread  had  been  poisoned  which  Brinvillier,  in 
order  to  acquire  a reputation  for  piety  and  benevolence, 
used  to  distribute  there  every  week.  At  any  rate,  it  is 
undoubtedly  true  that  she  was  in  the  habit  of  serving 
the  guests  whom  she  invited  to  her  house  with  poisoned 
pigeon  pie.  The  Chevalier  de  Guet  and  several  other 
persons  fell  victims  to  these  hellish  banquets.  Sainte 
Croix,  his  confederate  La  Chaussee,1  and  Brinvillier 
were  able  for  a long  time  to  enshroud  their  horrid 
deeds  behind  an  impenetrable  veil.  But  of  what  avail 
is  the  infamous  cunning  of  reprobate  men  when  the 
Divine  Power  has  decreed  that  punishment  shall  over- 
take the  guilty  here  on  earth  ? 

The  poisons  which  Sainte  Croix  prepared  were  of 
so  subtle  a nature  that  if  the  powder  (called  by  the 
Parisians  Poudre  de  Succession , or  Succession  Powder) 
were  prepared  with  the  face  exposed,  a single  inhala- 
tion of  it  might  cause  instantaneous  death.  Sainte 
Croix  therefore,  when  engaged  in  its  manufacture, 
always  wore  a mask  made  of  fine  glass.  One  day, 
just  as  he  was  pouring  a prepared  powder  into  a phial, 
his  mask  fell  off,  and,  inhaling  the  fine  particles  of  the 
poison,  he  fell  down  dead  on  the  spot.  As  he  had 
died  without  heirs,  the  officers  of  the  law  hastened  to 
place  his  effects  under  seal.  Amongst  them  they 
found  a locked  box,  which  contained  the  whole  of 
the  infernal  arsenal  of  poisons  that  the  abandoned 
wretch  Sainte  Croix  had  had  at  command  ; they  also 
found  Brinvillier’s  letters,  which  left  no  doubt  as  to 
her  atrocious  crimes.  She  fled  to  Liege,  into  a con- 


1 An  old  servant  of  Sainte  Croix’s,  whose  real  name  was  Jean 
Amelin. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD  £ RI. 


159 


vent  there.  Desgrais,  an  officer  of  the  Marlchaussee , 
was  sent  after  her.  In  the  disguise  of  a monk  he 
arrived  at  the  convent  where  she  had  concealed  her- 
self, and  contrived  to  engage  the  terrible  woman  in  a 
love  intrigue,  and  finally,  under  the  pretext  of  a secret 
meeting,  to  entice  her  out  to  a lonely  garden  beyond 
the  precincts  of  the  town.  Directly  she  arrived  at  the 
appointed  place  she  was  surrounded  by  Desgrais’ 
satellites,  whilst  her  monkish  lover  was  suddenly  con- 
verted into  an  officer  of  the  Marlchaussde , who  com- 
pelled her  to  get  into  the  carriage  which  stood  ready 
near  the  garden  ; and,  surrounded  by  the  police  troop, 
she  was  driven  straight  off  to  Paris.  La  Chaussee  had 
been  already  beheaded  somewhat  earlier  ; Brinvillier 
suffered  the  same  death,  after  which  her  body  was 
burned  and  the  ashes  scattered  to  the  winds. 

Now  that  the  monster  who  had  been  able  to  direct 
his  secret  murderous  weapons  against  both  friend  and 
foe  alike  unpunished  was  out  of  the  world,  the  Parisians 
breathed  freely  once  more.  But  it  soon  became  known 
abroad  that  the  villain  Sainte  Croix’s  abominable  art 
had  been  handed  down  to  certain  successors.  Like  a 
malignant  invisible  spirit,  murder  insinuated  itself  into 
the  most  intimate  circles,  even  the  closest  of  those 
formed  by  relationship  and  love  and  friendship,  and 
laid  a quick  sure  grasp  upon  its  unfortunate  victims. 
He  who  was  seen  one  day  in  the  full  vigour  of  health, 
tottered  about  the  next  a weak  wasting  invalid,  and 
no  skill  of  the  physician  could  save  him  from  death. 
Wealth,  a lucrative  office,  a beautiful  and  perhaps  too 
young  a wife — any  of  these  was  sufficient  to  draw 
down  upon  the  possessor  this  persecution  unto  death. 
The  most  sacred  ties  were  severed  by  the  cruellest 
mistrust.  The  husband  trembled  at  his  wife,  the 
father  at  his  son,  the  sister  at  the  brother.  The  dishes 


i6o 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERL 


remained  untouched,  and  the  wine  at  the  dinner, 
which  a friend  put  before  his  friends  ; and  there  where 
formerly  jest  and  mirth  had  reigned  supreme,  savage 
glances  were  now  spying  about  for  the  masked 
murderer.  Fathers  of  families  were  observed  buying 
provisions  in  remote  districts  with  uneasy  looks  and 
movements,  and  preparing  them  themselves  in  the  first 
dirty  cook-shop  they  came  to,  since  they  feared  dia- 
bolical treachery  in  their  own  homes.  And  yet  even 
the  greatest  and  most  well-considered  precautions  were 
in  many  cases  of  no  avail. 

In  order  to  put  a stop  to  this  iniquitous  state  of 
things,  which  continued  to  gain  ground  and  grow 
greater  day  by  day,  the  king  appointed  a special  court 
of  justice  for  the  exclusive  purpose  of  inquiring  into 
and  punishing  these  secret  crimes.  This  was  the  so- 
called  Chambre  Ardente , which  held  its  sittings  not  far 
from  the  Bastille,  its  acting  president  being  La  Regnie.1 
For  a considerable  period  all  his  efforts,  however 
zealously  they  were  prosecuted,  remained  fruitless  ; it 
was  reserved  for  the  crafty  Desgrais  to  discover  the 
most  secret  haunts  of  the  criminals.  In  the  Faubourg 
St.  Germain  there  lived  an  old  woman  called  Voisin, 
who  made  a regular  business  of  fortune-telling  and 
raising  departed  spirits  ; and  with  the  help  of  her 
confederates  Le  Sage  and  Le  Vigoureux,  she  managed 
to  excite  fear  and  astonishment  in  the  minds  of  persons 
who  could  not  be  called  exactly  either  weak  or  credu- 
lous. But  she  did  more  than  this.  A pupil  of  Exili, 
like  La  Croix,  she,  like  him,  concocted  the  same  subtle 
poison  that  killed  and  left  no  trace  behind  it  ; and  so 


1 Nicholas  G.  de  la  Reynie  was  born  at  Limoges  in  1625  ; he  ac- 
quired a sort  of  Judge  Jeffreys’  reputation  by  his  cruelties  and  blood- 
thirstiness as  president  of  the  Chambre  A rdente. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


161 


she  helped  in  this  way  profligate  sons  to  get  early 
possession  of  their  inheritance,  and  depraved  wives  to 
another  and  younger  husband.  Desgrais  wormed  his 
way  into  her  secret ; she  confessed  all  ; the  Chambre 
Ar  deute  condemned  her  to  be  burned  alive,  and  the 
sentence  was  executed  in  the  Place  Greve. 

Amongst  her  effects  was  found  a list  of  all  the 
persons  who  had  availed  themselves  of  her  assistance  ; 
and  hence  it  was  that  not  only  did  execution  follow 
upon  execution,  but  grave  suspicion  fell  even  upon 
persons  of  high  position.  Thus  it  was  believed  that 
Cardinal  Bonzy  had  obtained  from  La  Voisin  the  means 
of  bringing  to  an  untimely  end  all  those  persons  to 
whom,  as  Archbishop  of  Narbonne,  he  was  obliged  to 
pay  annuities.  So  also  the  Duchess  de  Bouillon,  and 
the  Countess  de  Soissons,1  whose  names  were  found 
on  the  list,  were  accused  of  having  had  dealings  with 
the  diabolical  woman  ; and  even  Frangois  Henri  de 
Montmorenci,  Boudebelle,  Duke  of  Luxemburg,2  peer 
and  marshal  of  the  kingdom,  was  not  spared.  He  too 
was  prosecuted  by  the  terrible  Chambre  Ardente.  He 
voluntarily  gave  himself  up  to  be  imprisoned  in  the 
Bastille,  where  through  Louvois’  3 and  La  Regnie’s 
hatred  he  was  confined  in  a cell  only  six  feet  long. 
Months  passed  before  it  was  made  out  satisfactorily 
that  the  Duke’s  transgression  did  not  deserve  any 

1 These  two  ladies,  Marie  and  Olympe  Mancini,  were  sisters,  nieces 
of  Mazarin.  The  latter  was  promoted  to  he  head  of  the  Queen’s 
household,  and  thus  provoked  the  hatred  of  Madame  de  Montespan 
(the  King’s  mistress)  and  Louvois,  through  whose  machinations  she 
was  accused  before  the  Chavibre  A rdente. 

2 Franjois  Henry  de  Montmorency,  Duke  of  Luxembourg,  was 
known  until  1661  by  the  name  of  Bouteville.  His  name  stands  high 
on  the  roll  of  distinguished  French  Marshals. 

3 Francois  Michel  Le  Tellier,  Marquis  de  Louvois  (1639-91),  Louis 
XIV.’s  minister  at  this  time. 

VOL.  II.  — II 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD&RI. 


162 

blame  : he  had  once  had  his  horoscope  cast  by  Le 
Sage. 

It  is  certain  that  the  President  La  Regnie  was  be- 
trayed by  his  blind  zeal  into  acts  of  cruelty  and  arbitrary 
violence.  The  tribunal  acquired  the  character  of  an 
Inquisition  ; the  most  trifling  suspicion  was  sufficient 
to  entail  strict  incarceration  ; and  it  was  left  to  chance 
to  establish  the  innocence  of  a person  accused  of  a 
capital  crime.  Moreover,  La  Regnie  was  hideous  in 
appearance,  and  of  a malicious  temperament,  so  that 
he  soon  drew  down  upon  himself  the  hatred  of  those 
whose  avenger  or  protector  he  was  appointed  to  be. 
The  Duchess  de  Bouillon,  being  asked  by  him  during 
her  trial  if  she  had  seen  the  devil,  replied,  “ I fancy  I 
can  see  him  at  this  moment.”  1 

But  whilst  the  blood  of  the  guilty  and  the  suspected 
alike  was  flowing  in  streams  in  the  Place  Greve,  and 
after  a time  the  secret  poisonings  became  less  and  less 
frequent,  p.  new  kind  of  outrage  came  to  light,  and 
again  filled  the  city  with  dismay.  It  seemed  as  if 
a band  of  miscreant  robbers  were  in  league  together 
for  the  purpose  of  getting  into  their  possession  all  the 
jewellery  they  could.  No  sooner  was  any  valuable 
ornament  purchased  than,  no  matter  how  or  where 
kept,  it  vanished  in  an  inconceivable  way.  But  what 
was  still  worse,  anyone  who  ventured  to  wear  jewellery 
on  his  person  at  night  was  robbed,  and  often  murdered 
even,  either  in  the  public  street  or  in  the  dark  passage 
of  a house.  Those  who  escaped  with  their  lives  de- 
clared that  they  had  been  knocked  down  by  a blow  on 
the  head,  which  felled  them  like  a lightning  flash,  and 

1 Her  real  answer  was,  “Je  le  vois  en  ce  moment  ; il  est  fort  laid  et 
fort  vilain  ; il  est  d6guis6  en  conseiller  d’etat.  (I  see  him  at  this 
moment  ; he  is  very  ugly  and  very  hideous  ; he  is  disguised  as  a state 
councillor. ) 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD  £ RI.  163 

that  on  awaking  from  their  stupor  they  had  found  that 
they  had  been  robbed  and  were  lying  in  quite  a different 
place  from  that  where  they  had  received  the  blow.  All 
who  were  murdered,  some  of  whom  were  found  nearly 
every  morning  lying  either  in  the  streets  or  in  the 
houses,  had  all  one  and  the  same  fatal  wound, — a 
dagger-thrust  in  the  heart,  killing,  according  to  the 
judgment  of  the  surgeons,  so  instantaneously  and  so 
surely  that  the  victim  would  drop  down  like  a stone, 
unable  to  utter  a sound.  Who  was  there  at  the  volup- 
tuous court  of  Louis  XIV.  who  was  not  entangled  in 
some  clandestine  intrigue,  and  stole  to  his  mistress  at  a 
late  hour,  often  carrying  a valuable  present  about  him  ? 
The  robbers,  as  if  they  were  in  league  with  spirits, 
knew  almost  exactly  when  anything  of  this  sort  was  on 
foot.  Often  the  unfortunate  did  not  reach  the  house 
where  he  expected  to  meet  with  the  reward  of  his 
passion  ; often  he  fell  on  the  threshold,  nay,  at  the  very 
chamber  door  of  his  mistress,  who  was  horrified  at  find- 
ing the  bloody  corpse. 

In  vain  did  Argenson,  the  Minister  of  Police,  order 
the  arrest  of  every  person  from  amongst  the  populace 
against  whom  there  was  the  least  suspicion  ; in  vain 
did  La  Regnie  rage  and  try  to  extort  confessions  ; in 
vain  did  they  strengthen  their  watch  and  their  patrols  ; 
— they  could  not  find  a trace  of  the  evil-doers.  The 
only  thing  that  did  to  a certain  extent  avail  was  to 
take  the  precaution  of  going  armed  to  the  teeth  and 
have  a torch  carried  before  one  ; and  yet  instances  were 
not  wanting  in  which  the  servant  was  annoyed  by  stones 
thrown  at  him,  whilst  at  the  same  moment  his  master 
was  murdered  and  robbed.  It  was  especially  remark- 
able that,  in  spite  of  all  inquiries  in  every  place  where 
traffic  in  jewellery  was  in  any  way  possible,  not  the 
smallest  specimen  of  the  stolen  ornaments  ever  came  to 


1 64  MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD£RI. 

light,  and  so  in  this  way  also  no  clue  was  found  which 
might  have  been  followed. 

Desgrais  was  furious  that  the  miscreants  should  thus 
baffle  all  his  cunning.  The  quarter  of  the  town  in 
which  he  happened  to  be  stationed  was  spared  ; whilst 
in  the  others,  where  nobody  apprehended  any  evil,  these 
robberies  and  murders  claimed  their  richest  victims. 

Desgrais  hit  upon  the  ruse  of  making  several  Des- 
grais one  after  the  other,  so  exactly  alike  in  gait,  post- 
ure, speech,  figure,  and  face,  that  the  myrmidons  of  the 
police  themselves  did  not  know  which  was  the  real 
Desgrais.  Meanwhile,  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life,  he 
used  to  watch  alone  in  the  most  secret  haunts  and  lairs 
of  crime,  and  follow  at  a distance  first  this  man  and 
then  that,  who  at  his  own  instance  carried  some  valu- 
able jewellery  about  his  person.  These  men,  however, 
were  not  attacked  ; and  hence  the  robbers  must  be 
acquainted  with  this  contrivance  also.  Desgrais  abso- 
lutely despaired. 

One  morning  Desgrais  came  to  President  La  Regnie 
pale  and  perturbed,  quite  distracted  in  fact.  “What’s 
the  matter?  What  news?  Have  you  got  a clue  ?”  cried 
the  President.  “Oh!  your  excellency,”  began  Desgrais, 
stammering  with  rage,  “ oh ! your  excellency — last 
night — not  far  from  the  Louvre — the  Marquis  de  la 
Fare 'was  attacked  in  my  presence.”  “By  Heaven 
then  !”  shouted  La  Regnie,  exultant  with  joy,  “we  have 
them.”  “ But  first  listen  to  me,”  interrupted  Desgrais 
with  a bitter  smile,  “ and  hear  how  it  all  came  about. 
Well  then,  I was  standing  near  the  Louvre  on  the 
watch  for  these  devils  who  mock  me,  and  my  heart  was 
on  fire  with  fury.  Then  there  came  a figure  close  past 

1 The  Marquis  de  la  Fare  had  liaisons,  first  with  Madame  de 
Rochefort,  with  Louvois  for  rival,  and  afterwards  with  Madame  de  la 
Sabli£re. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD&RI.  165 

me  without  noticing  me,  walking  with  unsteady  steps 
and  looking  behind  him.  By  the  faint  moonlight  I saw 
that  it  was  Marquis  de  la  Fare.  I was  not  surprised  to 
see  him  ; I knew  where  he  was  stealing  to.  But  he 
had  not  gone  more  than  ten  or  twelve  paces  past  me 
when  a man  started  up  right  out  of  the  earth  as  it 
seemed  and  knocked  him  down,  and  stooped  over  him. 
In  the  sudden  surprise  and  on  the  impulse  of  the  mo- 
ment, which  would  else  have  delivered  the  murderer 
into  my  hands,  I was  thoughtless  enough  to  cry  out ; 
and  I was  just  bursting  out  of  my  hiding-place  with  a 
rush,  intending  to  throw  myself  upon  him,  when  I got 
entangled  in  my  mantle  and  fell  down.  I saw  the  man 
hurrying  away  on  the  wings  of  the  wind;  I made  haste 
and  picked  myself  up  and  ran  after  him  ; and  as  I ran 
I blew  my  horn  ; from  the  distance  came  the  answering 
whistles  of  the  man  ; the  streets  were  all  alive  ; there 
was  a rattle  of  arms  and  a trampling  of  horses  in 
all  directions.  ‘ Here  ! here  ! Desgrais  ! Desgrais  ! ’ I 
shouted  till  the  streets  echoed.  By  the  bright  moonlight 
I could  always  see  the  man  in  front  of  me,  doubling 
here  and  there  to  deceive  me.  We  came  to  the  Rue 
Nicaise,  and  there  his  strength  appeared  to  fail  him  : I 
redoubled  my  efforts  ; and  he  only  led  me  by  fifteen 

paces  at  the  most” “You  caught  him  up;  you 

seized  him  ; the  patrol  came  up?”  cried  La  Regnie,  his 
eyes  flashing,  whilst  he  seized  Desgrais  by  the  arm  as 
though  he  were  the  flying  murderer.  “ Fifteen  paces,” 
continued  Desgrais  in  a hollow  voice  and  with  difficulty 
drawing  his  breath — “fifteen  paces  from  me  the  man 
sprang  aside  into  the  shade  and  disappeared  through 
the  wall.”  “ Disappeared  ?— through  the  wall?  Are 
you  mad?”  cried  La  Regnie,  taking  a couple  of  steps 
backwards  and  striking  his  hands  together. 

“From  this  moment  onwards,”  continued  Desgrais, 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD&RL 


166 

rubbing  his  brow  like  a man  tormented  by  hateful 
thoughts,  “your  excellency  may  call  me  a madman  or 
an  insane  ghost-seer,  but  it  was  just  as  I have  told  you. 
I was  standing  staring  at  the  wall  like  one  petrified 
when  several  men  of  the  patrol  hurried  up  breathless, 
and  along  with  them  Marquis  de  la  Fare,  who  had 
picked  himself  up,  with  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand. 
We  lighted  the  torches,  and  sounded  the  wall  back- 
wards and  forwards, — not  an  indication  of  a door  or  a 
window  or  an  opening.  It  was  a strong  stone  wall 
bounding  a yard,  and  was  joined  on  to  a house  in 
which  live  people  against  whom  there  has  never  risen 
the  slightest  suspicion.  To-day  I have  again  taken  a 
careful  survey  of  the  whole  place.  It  must  be  the 
Devil  himself  who  is  mystifying  us.” 

Desgrais’  story  became  known  in  Paris.  People’s 
heads  were  full  of  the  sorceries  and  incantations  and 
compacts  with  Satan  of  Voisin,  Vigoureux,  and  the 
reprobate  priest  Le  Sage  ; and  as  in  the  eternal  nature 
of  us  men,  the  leaning  to  the  marvellous  and  the  won- 
derful so  often  outweighs  all  the  authority  of  reason, 
so  the  public  soon  began  to  believe  simply  and  solely 
that  as  Desgrais  in  his  mortification  had  said,  Satan 
himself  really  did  protect  the  abominable  wretches,  who 
must  have  sold  their  souls  to  him.  It  will  readily  be 
believed  that  Desgrais’  story  received  all  sorts  of  orna- 
mental additions.  An  account  of  the  adventure,  with 
a woodcut  on  the  title-page  representing  a grim  Satanic 
form  before  which  the  terrified  Desgrais  was  sinking 
in  the  earth,  was  printed  and  largely  sold  at  the  street 
corners.  This  alone  was  enough  to  overawe  the  people, 
and  even  to  rob  the  myrmidons  of  the  police  of  their 
courage,  who  now  wandered  about  the  streets  at  night 
trembling  and  quaking,  hung  about  with  amulets  and 
soaked  in  holy  water. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDSRI. 


167 


Argenson  perceived  that  the  exertions  of  the  Chambre 
Ardente  were  of  no  avail,  and  he  appealed  to  the  king 
to  appoint  a tribunal  with  still  more  extensive  powers 
to  deal  with  this  new  epidemic  of  crime,  to  hunt  up 
the  evil-doers,  and  to  punish  them.  The  king,  con- 
vinced that  he  had  already  vested  too  much  power  in  the 
Chambre  Ardente , and  shaken  with  horror  at  the  number- 
less executions  which  the  bloodthirsty  La  Regnie  had 
decreed,  flatly  refused  to  entertain  the  proposed  plan. 

Another  means  was  chosen  to  stimulate  the  king’s 
interest  in  the  matter. 

Louis  was  in  the  habit  of  spending  the  afternoon  in 
Madame  de  Maintenon’s  salons,  and  also  despatching 
state  business  there  with  his  ministers  until  a late  hour 
at  night.  Here  a poem  was  presented  to  him  in  the 
name  of  the  jeopardised  lovers,  complaining  that, 
whenever  gallantry  bid  them  honour  their  mistress 
with  a present,  they  had  always  to  risk  their  lives  on 
the  fulfilment  of  the  injunction.  There  was  always 
both  honour  and  pleasure  to  be  won  in  shedding  their 
blood  for  their  lady  in  a knightly  encounter  ; but  it 
was  quite  another  thing  when  they  had  to  deal  with  a 
stealthy  malignant  assassin,  against  whom  they  could 
not  arm  themselves.  Would  Louis,  the  bright  polar 
star  of  all  love  and  gallantry,  cause  the  resplendent 
beams  of  his  glory  to  shine  and  dissipate  this  dark 
night,  and  so  unveil  the  black  mystery  that  was  con- 
cealed within  it  ? The  god-like  hero,  who  had  broken 
his  enemies  to  pieces,  would  now  (they  hoped)  draw 
his  sword  glittering  with  victory,  and,  as  Hercules  did 
against  the  Lernean  serpent,  or  Theseus  the  Minotaur, 
would  fight  against  the  threatening  monster  which  was 
gnawing  away  all  the  raptures  of  love,  and  darkening 
all  their  joy  and  converting  it  into  deep  pain  and  grief 
inconsolable. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


168 

Serious  as  the  matter  was,  yet  the  poem  did  not 
lack  clever  and  witty  turns,  especially  in  the  description 
of  the  anxieties  which  the  lovers  had  to  endure  as  they 
stole  by  secret  ways  to  their  mistresses,  and  of  how  their 
apprehensions  proved  fatal  to  all  the  rapturous  delights 
of  love  and  to  every  dainty  gallant  adventure  before  it 
could  even  develop  into  blossom.  If  it  be  added  that 
the  poem  was  made  to  conclude  with  a magniloquent 
panegyric  upon  Louis  XIV.,  the  king  could  not  fail 
to  read  it  with  visible  signs  of  satisfaction.  Having 
reached  the  end  of  it,  he  turned  round  abruptly  to 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  without  lifting  his  eyes  from 
the  paper,  and  read  the  poem  through  again  aloud  ; 
after  which  he  asked  her  with  a gracious  smile  what 
was  her  opinion  with  respect  to  the  wishes  of  the 
jeopardised  lovers. 

De  Maintenon,  faithful  to  the  serious  bent  of  her 
mind,  and  ahvays  preserving  a certain  colour  of  piety, 
replied  that  those  who  walked  along  secret  and  for- 
bidden paths  were  not  worthy  of  any  special  protec- 
tion, but  that  the  abominable  criminals  did  call  for 
special  measures  to  be  taken  for  their  destruction. 
The  king,  dissatisfied  with  this  wavering  answer, 
iolded  up  the  paper,  and  was  going  back  to  the  Secre- 
tary of  State,  who  was  working  in  the  next  room,  when 
on  casting  a glance  sideways  his  eye  fell  upon  Made- 
moiselle de  Scuderi,  who  was  present  in  the  salon  and 
had  taken  her  seat  in  a small  easy-chair  not  far  from 
De  Maintenon.  Her  he  now  approached,  whilst  the 
pleasant  smile  which  at  first  had  played  about  his 
mouth  and  on  his  cheeks,  but  had  then  disappeared, 
now  won  the  upper  hand  again.  Standing  immediate- 
ly in  front  of  Mademoiselle,  and  unfolding  the  poem 
once  more,  he  said  softly,  “ Our  Marchioness  will  not 
countenance  in  any  way  the  gallantries  of  our  amorous 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERL 


169 


gentlemen,  and  give  us  evasive  answers  of  a kind  that 
are  almost  quite  forbidden.  But  you,  Mademoiselle, 
what  is  your  opinion  of  this  poetic  petition  ? ” De 
Scuderi  rose  respectfully  from  her  chair,  whilst  a pass- 
ing blush  flitted  like  the  purple  sunset  rays  in  evening 
across  the  venerable  lady’s  pale  cheeks,  and  she  said, 
bowing  gently  and  casting  down  her  eyes, 

“ Un  amant  qui  craint  les  voleurs 
N’est  point  digne  d’amour.” 

(A  lover  who  is  afraid  of  robbers  is  not  worthy  of 
love.) 

The  king,  greatly  struck  by  the  chivalric  spirit 
breathed  in  these  few  words,  which  upset  the  whole  of 
the  poem  with  its  yards  and  yards  of  tirades,  cried  with 
sparkling  eyes,  “ By  St.  Denis,  you  are  right,  Made- 
moiselle ! Cowardice  shall  not  be  protected  by  any 
blind  measures  which  would  affect  the  innocent  along 
with  the  guilty  ; Argenson  and  La  Regnie  must  do 
their  best  as  they  are." 

All  these  horrors  of  the  day  La  Martiniere  depicted 
next  morning  in  startling  colours  when  she  related  to 
her  mistress  the  occurrence  of  the  previous  night  ; and 
she  handed  over  to  her  the  mysterious  casket  in  fear 
and  trembling.  Both  she  and  Baptiste,  who  stood  in 
the  corner  as  pale  as  death,  twisting  and  doubling  up 
his  night-cap,  and  hardly  able  to  speak  in  his  fear  and 
anxiety, — both  begged  Mademoiselle  in  the  most  piteous 
terms  and  in  the  names  of  all  the  saints,  to  use  the 
utmost  possible  caution  in  opening  the  box.  De 
Scuderi,  weighing  the  locked  mystery"  in  her  hand, 
and  subjecting  it  to  a careful  scrutiny,  said  smiling, 
“You  are  both  of  you  ghost-seers!  That  I am  not 
rich,  that  there  are  not  sufficient  treasures  here  to  be 
worth  a murder,  is  known  to  all  these  abandoned  as- 


170 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD&RI. 


sassins,  who,  you  yourself  tell  me,  spy  out  all  that 
there  is  in  a house,  as  well  as  it  is  to  me  and  you. 
You  think  they  have  designs  upon  my  life  ? Who 
could  make  capital  out  of  the  death  of  an  old  lady  of 
seventy-three,  who  never  did  harm  to  anybody  in  the 
world  except  the  miscreants  and  peace-breakers  in  the 
romances  which  she  writes  herself,  who  makes  middling 
verses  which  can  excite  nobody’s  envy,  who  will  have 
nothing  to  leave  except  the  state  dresses  of  an  old 
maid  who  sometimes  went  to  court,  and  a dozen  or 
two  well-bound  books  with  gilt  edges  ? And  then  you, 
Martiniere, — you  may  describe  the  stranger’s  appear- 
ance as  frightful  as  you  like,  yet  I cannot  believe  that 
his  intentions  were  evil.  So  then ” 

La  Martiniere  recoiled  some  paces,  and  Baptiste, 
uttering  a stifled  “ Oh  ! ” almost  sank  upon  his  knees 
as  Mademoiselle  proceeded  to  press  upon  a projecting 
steel  knob  ; then  the  lid  flew  back  wdth  a noisy  jerk. 

But  how  astonished  was  she  to  see  a pair  of  gold 
bracelets,  richly  set  with  jewels,  and  a necklace  to 
match.  She  took  them  out  of  the  case  ; and  whilst 
she  was  praising  the  exquisite  workmanship  of  the 
necklace,  Martiniere  was  eyeing  the  valuable  bracelets, 
and  crying  time  after  time,  that  the  vain  Lady  Mont- 
espan  herself  had  no  such  ornaments  as  these.  “ But 
w'hat  is  it  for  ? what  does  it  all  mean  ? ” said  De 
Scuderi.  But  at  this  same  moment  she  observed  a 
small  slip  of  paper  folded  together,  lying  at  the  bottom 
of  the  casket.  She  hoped,  and  rightly,  to  find  in  it 
an  explanation  of  the  mystery.  She  had  hardly  fin- 
ished reading  the  contents  of  the  scrip  when  it  fell 
from  her  trembling  hands.  She  sent  an  appealing 
glance  towards  Heaven,  and  then  fell  back  almost 
fainting  into  her  chair.  Terrified,  Martiniere  sprang 
to  her  assistance,  and  so  also  did  Baptiste.  “Oh/ 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SLUDER!.  17  i 

what  an  insult  ! ” she  exclaimed,  her  voice  half-choked 
with  tears,  “Oh  ! what  a burning  shame  ! Must  I then 
endure  this  in  my  old  age  ? Have  I then  gone  and 
acted  with  wrong  and  foolish  levity  like  some  young 
giddy  thing  ? O God,  are  words  let  fall  half  in  jest 
capable  of  being  stamped  with  such  an  atrocious  inter- 
pretation ? And  am  I,  who  have  been  faithful  to 
virtue,  and  of  blameless  piety  from  my  earliest  child- 
hood until  now, — am  I to  be  accused  of  the  crime  of 
making  such  a diabolical  compact  ? ” 

Mademoiselle  held  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and 
wept  and  sobbed  bitterly,  so  that  Martiniere  and  Bap- 
tiste were  both  of  them  confused  and  rendered  helpless 
by  embarrassed  constraint,  not  knowing  what  to  do  to 
help  their  mistress  in  her  great  trouble. 

Martiniere  picked  up  the  ominous  strip  of  paper  from 
the  floor.  Upon  it  was  written — 

“ Un  amant  qui  craint  les  voleurs 
N’est  point  digne  d’amour. 

“ Your  sagacious  mind,  honoured  lady,  has  saved  us 
from  great  persecution.  We  only  exercise  the  right  of 
the  stronger  over  the  weak  and  the  cowardly  in  order 
to  appropriate  to  ourselves  treasures  that  would  else  be 
disgracefully  squandered.  Kindly  accept  these  jewels 
as  a token  of  our  gratitude.  They  are  the  most  brilliant 
that  we  have  been  enabled  to  meet  with  for  a long 
time  ; and  yet  you,  honoured  lady,  ought  to  be  adorned 
with  jewellery  even  still  finer  than  this  is.  We  trust 
you  will  not  withdraw  from  us  your  friendship  and 
kind  remembrance. 

“ The  Invisibles.”  1 


1 This  incident  is  not  an  invention  of  the  author’s.  He  states  that 
he  got  it  from  Wagenseil’s  Chronik  von  Nürnberg  (1697),  the  said 
Wagenseilius  having  been  to  Paris  and  paid  a visit  to  Mademoiselle  de 


172 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


“ Is  it  possible  ? ” exclaimed  De  Scuderi  after  she 
had  to  some  extent  recovered  herself,  “ is  it  possible 
formen  to  carry  their  shameless  insolence,  their  god- 
less scorn,  to  such  lengths  ? ” The  sun  shone  brightly 
through  the  dark-red  silk  window  curtains  and  made 
the  brilliants  w'hich  lay  on  the  table  beside  the  open 
casket  to  sparkle  in  the  reddish  gleam.  Chancing  to 
cast  her  eyes  upon  them,  De  Scuderi  hid  her  face  with 
abhorrence,  and  bade  Martiniere  take  the  fearful  jew- 
ellery away  at  once,  that  very  moment,  for  the  blood 
of  the  murdered  victims  was  still  adhering  to  it. 
Martiniere  at  once  carefully  locked  the  necklace  and 
bracelets  in  the  casket  again,  and  thought  that  the 
wisest  plan  would  be  to  hand  it  over  to  the  Minister  of 
Police,  and  to  confide  to  him  everything  connected  with 
the  appearance  of  the  young  man  who  had  caused  them 
so  much  uneasiness,  and  the  way  in  which  he  had 
placed  the  casket  in  her  hands. 

De  Scuderi  rose  to  her  feet  and  slowly  paced  up  and 
down  the  room  in  silence,  as  if  she  were  only  now  re- 
flecting what  was  to  be  done.  She  then  bade  Baptiste 
fetch  a sedan  chair,  while  Martiniere  was  to  dress  her, 
for  she  meant  to  go  straight  to  the  Marchioness  de 
Maintenon. 

She  had  herself  carried  to  the  Marchioness’s  just  at 
the  hour  when  she  knew  she  should  find  that  lady  alone 
in  her  salons.  The  casket  with  the  jewellery  De 
Scuderi  also  took  with  her. 

Of  course  the  Marchioness  was  greatly  astonished  to 
see  Mademoiselle,  who  was  generally  a pattern  of  dig- 
nity, amiability  (notwithstanding  her  advanced  age), 
and  gracefulness,  come  in  with  tottering  steps,  pale, 

Scudery  herself.  The  answer  this  lady  gave  the  king  is  also  histori- 
cally true,  according  to  Hoffmann,  and  it  was  spoken  under  circum- 
stances almost  exactly  like  those  represented  in  the  text. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDDRI 


173 


and  excessively  agitated.  “ By  all  the  saints,  what’s 
happened  to  you  ? ” she  cried  when  she  saw  the  poor 
troubled  lady,  who,  almost  distracted  and  hardly  able 
to  walk  erect,  hurried  to  reach  the  easv-chair  which  De 
Maintenon  pushed  towards  her.  At  length,  having  re- 
covered her  power  of  speech  somewhat,  Mademoiselle 
related  what  a deep  insult — she  should  never  get  over 
it — her  thoughtless  jest  in  answer  to  the  petition  of  the 
jeopardised  lovers  had  brought  upon  her.  The  Mar- 
chioness, after  learning  the  whole  of  the  story  by  frag- 
ments, arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  De  Scuderi  took 
the  strange  occurrence  far  too  much  to  heart,  that  the 
mockery  of  depraved  wretches  like  these  could  never 
come  home  to  a pious,  noble  mind  like  hers,  and  finally 
she  requested  to  see  the  ornaments. 

De  Scuderi  gave  her  the  open  casket  ; and  the  Mar- 
chioness, on  seeing  the  costly  jewellery,  could  not  help 
uttering  a loud  cry  of  admiration.  She  took  out  the 
necklace  and  the  bracelets,  and  approached  the  window 
with  them,  where  first  she  let  the  sun  play  upon  the 
stones,  and  then  she  held  them  up  close  to  her  eyes  in 
order  to  see  better  the  exquisite  workmanship  of  the 
gold,  and  to  admire  the  marvellous  skill  with  which 
every  little  link  in  the  elaborate  chain  was  finished. 
All  at  once  the  Marchioness  turned  round  abruptly  to- 
wards Mademoiselle  and  cried,  “ I tell  you  what, 
Mademoiselle,  these  bracelets  and  necklace  must  have 
been  made  by  no  less  a person  than  Rene  Cardillac.” 

Rene  Cardillac  was  at  that  time  the  most  skilful  gold- 
smith in  Paris,  and  also  one  of  the  most  ingenious  as 
well  as  one  of  the  most  eccentric  men  of  the  age. 
Rather  small  than  great,  but  broad-shouldered  and 
with  a strong  and  muscular  frame,  Cardillac,  although 
considerably  more  than  fifty,  still  possessed  the  strength 
and  activity  of  youth.  And  his  strength,  which  might 


174 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDflRI. 


be  said  tobe  something  above  the  common,  was  further 
evidenced  by  his  abundant  curly  reddish  hair,  and  his 
thick-set  features  and  the  sultry  gleam  upon  them. 
Had  not  Cardillac  been  known  throughout  all  Paris,  as 
one  of  the  most  honest  and  honourable  of  men,  disin- 
terested, frank,  without  any  reserve,  always  ready  to 
help,  the  very  peculiar  appearance  of  his  eyes,  which 
were  small,  deep-set,  green,  and  glittering,  might  have 
drawn  upon  him  the  suspicion  of  lurking  malice  and 
viciousness. 

As  already  said,  Cardillac  was  the  greatest  master  in 
his  trade,  not  only  in  Paris,  but  also  perhaps  of  his  age. 
Intimately  acquainted  with  the  properties  of  precious 
stones,  he  knew  how  to  treat  them  and  set  them  in  such 
a manner  that  an  ornament  which  had  at  first  been 
looked  upon  as  wanting  in  lustre,  proceeded  out  of 
Cardillac’s  shop  possessing  a dazzling  magnificence. 
Every  commission  he  accepted  with  burning  avidity, 
and  fixed  a price  that  seemed  to  bear  no  proportion 
whatever  to  the  work  to  be  done — so  small  was  it. 
Then  the  work  gave  him  no  rest  ; both  night  and  day 
he  was  heard  hammering  in  his  work-shop,  and  often 
when  the  thing  was  nearly  finished  he  would  suddenly 
conceive  a dislike  to  the  form  ; he  had  doubts  as  to  the 
elegance  of  the  setting  of  some  or  other  of  the  jewels, 
of  a little  link — quite  a sufficient  reason  for  throwing 
all  into  the  crucible,  and  beginning  the  entire  work 
over  again.  Thus  every  individual  piece  of  jeweller}' 
that  he  turned  out  was  a perfect  and  matchless  master- 
piece, utterly  astounding  to  the  person  who  had  given 
the  commission. 

But  it  was  now  hardly  possible  to  get  any  work  that 
was  once  finished  out  of  his  hands.  Under  a thousand 
pretexts  he  put  off  the  owner  from  week  to  week,  and 
from  month  to  month.  It  was  all  in  vain  to  offer  him 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI 


175 


double  for  the  work  ; he  would  not  take  a single  Louis 
d'or  1 more  than  the  price  bargained  for.  When  at  last 
he  was  obliged  to  yield  to  the  insistence  of  his  customer, 
he  could  not  help  betraying  all  the  signs  of  the  great- 
est annoyance,  nay,  of  even  fury  seething  in  his  heart. 
If  the  piece  of  work  which  he  had  to  deliver  up  was 
something  of  more  than  ordinary  importance,  especially 
anything  of  great  value,  worth  many  thousands  owing 
to  the  costliness  of  the  jewels  or  the  extreme  delicacy 
of  the  gold-work,  he  was  capable  of  running  about  like 
a madman,  cursing  himself,  his  labour,  and  all  about 
him.  But  then  if  any  person  came  up  behind  him  and 
shouted,  “ Rene  Cardillac,  would  you  not  like  to  make 
a beautiful  necklace  for  my  betrothed  ? — bracelets  for 
my  sweet-heart,”  or  so  forth,  he  would  suddenly  stop 
still,  and  looking  at  him  with  his  little  eyes,  would  ask, 
as  he  rubbed  his  hands,  “Well,  what  have  you  got?” 
Thereupon  the  other  would  produce  a small  jewel-case, 
and  say,  “ Oh  ! some  jewels — see  ; they  are  nothing 

particular,  only  common  things,  but  in  your  hands  ” 

Cardillac  does  not  let  him  finish  what  he  has  to  say, 
but  snatching  the  case  out  of  his  hand  takes  out  the 
stones  (which  are  in  reality  of  but  little  value)  and  holds 
them  up  to  the  light,  crying  enraptured,  “Ho!  ho! 
common  things,  are  they  ? Not  at  all  ! Pretty  stones 
— magnificent  stones  ; only  let  me  make  them  up  for 
you.  And  if  you’re  not  squeamish  to  a handful  or  two 
of  Louis  d'or , I can  add  a few  more  little  gems,  which 
shall  sparkle  in  your  eyes  like  the  great  sun  himself.” 
The  other  says,  “ I will  leave  it  all  to  you,  Master  Rene, 
and  pay  you  what  you  like.” 

Then,  without  making  any  difference  whether  his 


1 The  old  Louis  d'  Or  of  Louis  XIV.  = about  £1,  os.  3d.  (Cf.  note, 
p.  281,  vol.  L) 


176 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


customer  is  a rich  citizen  only  or  an  eminent  noble- 
man of  the  court,  Cardillac  throws  his  arms  impetu- 
ously round  his  neck  and  embraces  him  and  kisses  him, 
saying  that  now  he  is  quite  happy  again,  and  the  work 
will  be  finished  in  a week’s  time.  Running  off  home 
with  breathless  speed  and  up  into  his  workshop,  he 
begins  to  hammer  away,  and  at  the  week’s  end  has  pro- 
duced a masterpiece  of  art.  But  when  the  customer 
comes  prepared  to  pay  with  joy  the  insignificant  sum 
demanded,  and  expecting  to  take  the  finished  ornament 
away  with  him,  Cardillac  gets  testy,  rude,  obstinate,  and 
hard  to  deal  with.  “But,  Master  Cardillac,  recollect 
that  my  wedding  is  to-morrow.” — “ But  what  have  I to  do 
with  your  wedding  ? come  again  in  a fortnight’s  time.” 
“The  ornament  is  finished  ; here  is  your  money;  and  I 
must  have  it.”  “And  I tell  you  that  I’ve  lots  of  things 
to  alter  in  it,  and  I shan’t  let  you  have  it  to-day.” 
“ And  I tell  you  that  if  you  won’t  deliver  up  the  orna- 
ment by  fair  means — of  course  I am  willing  to  pay  you 
double  for  it — you  shall  soon  see  me  march  up  with 
Argenson’s  serviceable  underlings.” — “ Well,  then,  may 
Satan  torture  you  with  scores  of  red-hot  pincers,  and 
hang  three  hundredweight  on  the  necklace  till  it 
strangle  your  bride.”  And  therewith,  thrusting  the 
jewellery  into  the  bridegroom’s  breast  pocket,  Cardillac 
seizes  him  by  the  arm  and  turns  him  roughly  out  of  the 
door,  so  that  he  goes  stumbling  all  down  the  stairs. 
Then  Cardillac  puts  his  head  out  of  the  window  and 
laughs  like  a demon  on  seeing  the  poor  young  man 
limp  out  of  the  house,  holding  his  handkerchief  to  his 
bloody  nose. 

But  one  thing  there  was  about  him  that  was  quite 
inexplicable.  Often,  after  he  had  enthusiastically  taken 
a piece  of  work  in  hand,  he  would  implore  his  customer 
by  the  Virgin  and  all  the  saints,  with  ever}'  sign  of 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


i 77 


deep  and  violent  agitation,  and  with  moving  protesta- 
tions, nay,  amidst  tears  and  sobs,  that  he  might  be  re- 
leased from  his  engagement.  Several  persons  who 
were  most  highly  esteemed  of  the  king  and  the  people 
had  vainly  offered  large  sums  of  money  to  get  the 
smallest  piece  of  work  from  him.  He  threw  himself 
at  the  king’s  feet  and  besought  as  a favour  at  his  hands 
that  he  might  not  be  asked  to  do  any  work  for  him. 
In  the  same  way  he  refused  every  commission  from 
De  Maintenon  ; he  even  rejected  with  aversion  and 
horror  the  proposal  she  made  him  to  fabricate  for  her 
a little  ring  with  emblematic  ornaments,  which  was  to 
be  presented  to  Racine. 

Accordingly  De  Maintenon  now  said,  “I  would  wager 
that  if  I sent  for  Cardillac  to  come  here  to  tell  me  at 
least  for  whom  he  made  these  ornaments,  he  would  re- 
fuse to  come,  since  he  would  probably  fear  it  was  some 
commission  ; and  he  never  will  make  anything  for  me 
on  any  account.  And  yet  he  has,  it  seems,  dropped 
something  of  his  inflexible  obstinacy  some  time  ago, 
for  I hear  that  he  now  labours  more  industriously  than 
ever,  and  delivers  up  his  work  at  once,  though  still  not 
without  much  inward  vexation  and  turning  away  of  his 
face.”  De  Scuderi,  who  was  greatly  concerned  that 
the  ornaments  should,  if  it  could  possibly  be  managed, 
come  soon  into  the  hands  of  the  proper  owner,  thought 
they  might  send  express  word  to  Master  Whimsicality 
that  they  did  not  want  him  to  do  any  work,  but  only  to 
pass  his  opinion  upon  some  jewels.  This  commended 
itself  to  the  Marchioness.  Cardillac  was  sent  for  ; and, 
as  though  he  had  been  already  on  the  way,  after  a brief 
interval  he  stepped  into  the  room. 

On  observing  De  Scuderi  he  appeared  to  be  embar- 
rassed ; and,  like  one  confounded  by  something  so 
utterly  unexpected  that  he  forgets  the  claims  of  pro- 
Vol.  II. — 12 


178  MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD£rL 

priety  such  as  the  moment  demands,  he  first  made  a 
low  and  reverential  obeisance  to  this  venerable  lady, 
and  then  only  did  he  turn  to  the  Marchioness.  She, 
pointing  to  the  jewellery,  which  now  lay  glittering  on 
the  dark-green  table-cloth,  asked  him  hastily  if  it  was 
of  his  workmanship.  Hardly  glancing  at  it,  and  keep- 
ing his  eyes  steadily  fixed  upon  De  Maintenon,  Cardil- 
lac hurriedly  packed  the  necklace  and  bracelets  into  the 
casket,  which  stood  beside  them,  and  pushed  it  violently 
away  from  him.  Then  he  said,  whilst  a forbidding 
smile  gleamed  in  his  red  face,  “ By  my  honour,  noble 
lady,  he  would  have  but  a poor  acquaintance  with  Rene 
Cardillac’s  workmanship  who  should  believe  for  a 
single  moment  that  any  other  goldsmith  in  the  world 
could  set  a piece  of  jewellery  like  that  is  done.  Of 
course  it’s  my  handiwork.”  “Then  tell  me,”  con- 
tinued the  Marchioness,  “ for  whom  you  made  these 
ornaments.”  “ For  myself  alone,”  replied  Cardillac. 
“Ah!  I dare  say  your  ladyship  finds  that  strange,”  he 
continued,  since  both  she  and  De  Scuderi  had  fixed 
their  eyes  upon  him  astounded,  the  former  full  of  mis- 
trust, the  latter  of  anxious  suspense  as  to  what  turn  the 
matter  would  take  next ; “ but  it  is  so.  Merely  out  of 
love  for  my  beautiful  handicraft  I picked  out  all  my 
best  stones  and  gladly  set  to  work  upon  them,  exercis- 
ing more  industry  and  care  over  them  than  I had  ever 
done  over  any  stones  before.  A short  time  ago  the 
ornaments  disappeared  in  some  inconceivable  way  out 
of  my  workshop.”  “Thank  Heaven!”  cried  De 
Scuderi,  whilst  her  eyes  sparkled  with  joy,  and  she 
jumped  up  from  her  chair  as  quick  and  nimble  as  a 
young  girl  ; then  going  up  to  Cardillac,  she  placed 
both  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  and  said,  “ Here, 
Master  Rene,  take  your  property  back  again,  which 
these  rascally  miscreants  stole  from  you.”  And  she  re- 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDLRI. 


179 


lated  every  detail  of  how  she  had  acquired  possession 
of  the  ornaments,  to  all  of  which  Cardillac  listened 
silently,  with  his  eyes  cast  down  upon  the  floor.  Only 
now  and  again  he  uttered  an  indistinct  “ Hm  ! — So  ! — 
Ho  ! ho  ! ” now  throwing  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
and  now  softly  stroking  his  chin  and  cheeks. 

When  De  Scuderi  came  to  the  end  of  her  story,  Car- 
dillac appeared  to  be  struggling  with  some  new  and 
striking  thought  which  had  occurred  to  him  during  the 
course  of  it,  and  as  though  he  were  labouring  with 
some  rebellious  resolve  that  refused  to  conform  to  his 
wishes.  He  rubbed  his  forehead,  sighed,  drew  his  hand 
across  his  eyes,  as  if  to  check  tears  which  were  gushing 
from  them.  At  length  he  seized  the  casket  which  De 
Scuderi  was  holding  out  towards  him,  and  slowly  sink- 
ing upon  one  knee,  said,  “ These  jewels  have  been  de- 
creed to  you,  my  noble  and  respected  lady,  by  Destiny. 
Yes,  now  I know  that  it  was  you  I thought  about  when 
I was  labouring  at  them,  and  that  it  was  for  you  I 
worked.  Do  not  disdain  to  accept  these  ornaments, 
nor  refuse  to  wear  them  ; they  are  indeed  the  best 
things  I have  made  for  a very  long  time.”  . “ Why,  why, 
Master  Rene,”  replied  De  Scuderi,  in  a charming,  jest- 
ing manner  ; “what  are  you  thinking  about  ? Would  it 
become  me  at  my  years  to  trick  myself  out  with  such 
bright  gems  ? And  what  makes  you  think  of  giving 
me  such  an  over-rich  present  ? Nay,  nay,  Master  Rene. 
Now  if  I were  beautiful  like  the  Marchioness  de  Fon- 
tange,1 and  rich  too,  I assure  you  I should  not  let  these 
ornaments  pass  out  of  my  hands  ; but  what  do  these 
withered  arms  want  with  vain  show,  and  this  covered 

1 One  of  Louis  XIV.  ’s  former  mistresses — Marie  de  Roussille, 
Duchess  de  Fontanges  (i66i-i68r) — is  described  as  being  of  great 
beauty,  but  deficient  in  intellectual  grace  and  charm  of  manner,  and  as 
being  arrogant  and  cold-hearted. 


i8o 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


neck  with  glittering  ornaments  ? ” Meanwhile  Cardil- 
lac  had  risen  to  his  feet  again  ; and  whilst  persistently 
holding  out  the  casket  towards  De  Scuderi  he  said,  like 
one  distracted — and  his  looks  were  wild  and  uneasy, — 
“ Have  pity  upon  me,  Mademoiselle,  and  take  the  or- 
naments. You  don’t  know  what  great  respect  I cherish 
in  my  heart  for  your  virtue  and  your  high  good  quali- 
ties. Accept  this  little  present  as  an  effort  on  my  be- 
half to  show  my  deep  respect  and  devotion.”  But  as 
De  Scuderi  still  continued  to  hesitate,  De  Maintenon 
took  the  casket  out  of  Cardillac’s  hands,  saying,  “ Upon 
my  word,  Mademoiselle,  you  are  always  talking  about 
your  great  age.  What  have  we,  you  and  I,  to  do  with 
years  and  their  burdens  ? And  aren’t  you  acting  just 
like  a shy  young  thing,  who  wTould  only  too  well  like 
to  take  the  sweet  fruit  that  is  offered  to  her  if  she  could 
only  do  so  without  stirring  either  hand  or  finger  ? 
Don’t  refuse  to  accept  from  our  good  Master  Rene  as  a 
free  gift  what  scores  of  others  could  never  get,  in  spite 
of  all  their  gold  and  all  their  prayers  and  entreaties.” 

Whilst  speaking  De  Maintenon  had  forced  the  casket 
into  Mademoiselle’s  hand  ; and  now  Cardillac  again  fell 
upon  his  knees  and  kissed  De  Scuderi’s  gown  and 
hands,  sighing  and  gasping,  weeping  and  sobbing  ; then 
he  jumped  up  and  ran  off  like  a madman,  as  fast  as  he 
could  run,  upsetting  chairs  and  tables  in  his  senseless 
haste,  and  making  the  glasses  and  porcelain  tumble 
together  with  a ring  and  jingle  and  clash. 

De  Scuderi  cried  out  quite  terrified,  “ Good  Heavens! 
what’s  happened  to  the  man  ? ” But  the  Marchioness, 
who  was  now  in  an  especially  lively  mood  and  in  such 
a pert  humour  as  was  in  general  quite  foreign  to  her, 
burst  out  into  a silvery  laugh,  and  said,  “ Now,  I’ve  got 
it,  Mademoiselle.  Master  Rene  has  fallen  desperately 
in  love  with  you,  and  according  to  the  established  form 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDÄRI. 


1 8 1 


and  settled  usage  of  all  true  gallantry,  he  is  beginning 
to  storm  your  heart  with  rich  presents.”  She  even 
pushed  her  raillery  further,  admonishing  De  Scuderi 
not  to  be  too  cruel  towards  her  despairing  lower,  until 
Mademoiselle,  letting  her  natural-born  humour  have 
play,  was  carried  away  by  the  bubbling  stream  of  merry 
conceits  and  fancies.  She  thought  that  if  that  was 
really  the  state  of  the  case,  she  should  be  at  last  con- 
quered and  would  not  be  able  to  help  affording  to  the 
world  the  unprecedented  example  of  a goldsmith’s 
bride,  of  untarnished  nobility,  of  the  age  of  three  and 
seventy.  De  Maintenon  offered  her  services  to  weave 
the  wedding-wreath,  and  to  instruct  her  in  the  duties 
of  a good  house-wife,  since  such  a snippety  bit  of  a girl 
could  not  of  course  know  much  about  such  things. 

But  when  at  length  De  Scuderi  rose  to  say  adieu  to 
the  Marchioness,  she  again,  notwithstanding  all  their 
laughing  jests,  grew  very  grave  as  she  took  the  jewel- 
case  in  her  hand,  and  said,  “ And  yet,  Marchioness,  do 
you  know,  I can  never  wear  these  ornaments.  What- 
ever be  their  history,  they  have  at  some  time  or  other 
been  in  the  hands  of  those  diabolical  wretches  who 
commit  robbery  and  murder  with  all  the  effrontery  of 
Satan  himself  ; nay,  I believe  they  must  be  in  an  unholy 
league  with  him.  I shudder  with  awe  at  the  sight  of 
the  blood  which  appears  to  adhere  to  the  glittering 
stones.  And  then,  I must  confess,  I cannot  help  feel- 
ing that  there  is  something  strangely  uneasy  and  awe- 
inspiring about  Cardillac’s  behaviour.  I cannot  get 
rid  of  the  dark  presentiment  that  behind  all  this  there 
is  lurking  some  fearful  and  terrible  secret  ; but  when, 
on  the  other  hand,  I pass  the  whole  matter  with  all  its 
circumstantial  adjuncts  in  clear  review  before  my  mind, 
I cannot  even  guess  what  the  mystery  consists  in,  nor 
yet  how  our  brave  honest  Master  Rene,  the  pattern  of  a 


182 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD£RI. 


good  industrious  citizen,  can  have  anything  to  do  with 
what  is  bad  or  deserving  of  condemnation  ; but  of  this 
I am  quite  sure,  that  I shall  never  dare  to  put  the  or- 
naments' on.” 

The  Marchioness  thought  that  this  was  carrying 
scruples  too  far.  But  when  De  Scuderi  asked  her  on 
her  conscience  what  she  should  really  do  in  her  (Scud- 
eri’s)  place,  De  Maintenon  replied  earnestly  and  deci- 
sively, “ Far  sooner  throw  the  ornaments  into  the  Seine 
than  ever  wear  them.” 

The  scene  with  Master  Rene  was  described  by  De 
Scuderi  in  charming  verses,  which  she  read  to  the  king 
on  the  following  evening  in  De  Maintenon’s  salon. 
And  of  course  it  may  readily  be  conceived  that,  con- 
quering her  uncomfortable  feelings  and  forebodings  of 
evil,  she  drew  at  Master  Rene’s  expense  a diverting 
picture,  in  bright  vivacious  colours,  of  the  goldsmith’s 
bride  of  three  and  seventy  who  was  of  such  ancient 
nobility.  At  any  rate  the  king  laughed  heartily,  and 
swore  that  Boileau  Despreux  had  found  his  master  ; 
hence  De  Scuderi’s  poem  was  popularly  adjudged  tobe 
the  wittiest  that  ever  was  written. 

Several  months  had  passed,  when,  as  chance  would 
have  it,  De  Scuderi  was  driving  over  the  Pont  Neuf  in 
the  Duchess  de  Montansier’s  glass  coach.  The  inven- 
tion of  this  elegant  class  of  vehicles  was  still  so  recent 
that  a throng  of  the  curious  always  gathered  round  it 
when  one  appeared  in  the  streets.  And  so  there  was 
on  the  present  occasion  a gaping  crowd  round  De  Mon- 
tansier’s coach  on  the  Pont  Neuf,  so  great  as  almost  to 
hinder  the  horses  from  getting  on.  All  at  once  De 
Scuderi  heard  a continuous  fire  of  abuse  and  cursing, 
and  perceived  a man  making  his  way  through  the  thick 
of  the  crowd  by  the  help  of  his  fists  and  by  punching 
people  in  the  ribs.  And  when  he  came  nearer  she  saw 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SLUDER!  183 

that  his  piercing  eyes  were  riveted  upon  her.  His  face 
was  pale  as  death  and  distorted  by  pain  ; and  he  kept 
his  eyes  riveted  upon  her  all  the  time  he  was  energeti- 
cally working  his  way  onwards  with  his  fists  and  elbows, 
until  he  reached  the  door.  Pulling  it  open  with  impet- 
uous violence,  he  threw  a strip  of  paper  into  De  Scu- 
deri’s  lap,  and  again  dealing  out  and  receiving  blows  and 
punches,  disappeared  as  he  had  come.  Martiniere,  who 
was  accompanying  her  mistress,  uttered  a scream  of 
terror  when  she  saw  the  man  appear  at  the  coach  door, 
and  fell  back  upon  the  cushions  in  a swoon.  De  Scud- 
eri  vainly  pulled  the  cord  and  called  out  to  the  driver ; 
he,  as  if  impelled  by  the  foul  Fiend,  whipped  up  his 
horses,  so  that  they  foamed  at  the  mouth  and  tossed 
their  heads,  and  kicked  and  plunged,  and  finally  thun- 
dered over  the  bridge  at  a sharp  trot.  De  Scuderi 
emptied  her  smelling-bottle  over  the  insensible  woman, 
who  at  length  opened  her  eyes.  Trembling  and  shaking, 
she  clung  convulsively  to  her  mistress,  her  face  pale 
with  anxiety  and  terror  as  she  gasped  out,  “ For  the 
love  of  the  Virgin,  what  did  that  terrible  man  want  ? 
Oh ! yes,  it  was  he  ! it  was  he  ! — the  very  same  who 
brought  you  the  casket  that  awful  night.”  Mademoiselle 
pacified  the  poor  woman,  assuring  her  that  not  the 
least  mischief  had  been  done,  and  that  the  main  thing 
to  do  just  then  was  to  see  what  the  strip  of  paper  con- 
tained. She  unfolded  it  and  found  these  words — 

“ I am  being  plunged  into  the  pit  of  destruction  by 
an  evil  destiny  which  you  may  avert.  I implore  you, 
as  the  son  does  the  mother  whom  he  cannot  leave,  and 
with  the  warmest  affection  of  a loving  child,  send 
the  necklace  and  bracelets  which  you  received  from 
me  to  Master  Rene  Cardillac  ; any  pretext  will  do,  to 
get  some  improvement  made — or  to  get  something 


184 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDLRI. 


altered..  Your  welfare,  your  life,  depend  upon  it.  If 
you  have  not  done  so  by  the  day  after  to-morrow  I 
will  force  my  way  into  your  dwelling  and  kill  myself 
before  your  eyes.” 

“Well  now,  it  is  at  any  rate  certain,”  said  De 
Scuderi  when  she  had  read  it,  “ that  this  mysterious 
man,  even  if  he  does  really  belong  to  the  notorious 
band  of  thieves  and  robbers,  yet  has  no  evil  designs 
against  me.  If  he  had  succeeded  in  speaking  to  me 
that  night,  who  knows  whether  I should  not  have  learnt 
of  some  singular  event  or  some  mysterious  complication 
of  things,  respecting  which  I now  try  in  vain  to  form 
even  the  remotest  guess.  But  let  the  matter  now  take 
what  shape  it  may,  I shall  certainly  do  what  this  note 
urgently  requests  me  to  do,  if  for  no  other  reason  than 
to  get  rid  of  those  ill-starred  jewels,  which  I always 
fancy  are  a talisman  of  the  foul  Fiend  himself.  And 
I warrant  Cardillac,  true  to  his  rooted  habit,  won’t  let 
them  pass  out  of  his  hands  again  so  easily.” 

The  very  next  day  De  Scuderi  intended  to  go  and 
take  the  jewellery  to  the  goldsmith’s.  But  somehow 
it  seemed  as  if  all  the  wits  and  intellects  of  entire  Paris 
had  conspired  together  to  overwhelm  Mademoiselle  just 
on  this  particular  morning  with  their  verses  and  plays 
and  anecdotes.  No  sooner  had  La  Chapelle  1 finished 
reading  a tragedy,  and  had  slyly  remarked  with  some 
degree  of  confident  assurance  that  he  should  now  cer- 
tainly beat  Racine,  than  the  latter  poet  himself  came 
in,  and  routed  him  with  a pathetic  speech  of  a certain 
king,  until  Boileau  appeared  to  let  off  the  rockets  of 
his  wit  into  this  black  sky  of  Tragedy — in  order  that 

1 Jean  de  la  Chapelle  (1655-1723)  attempted  to  fill  the  gap  left  in 
the  dramatic  world  by  Racine’s  retirement  from  play-writing,  though, 
it  is  said,  with  but  indifferent  success. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDER7. 


i8S 

he  might  not  be  talked  to  death  on  the  subject  of  the 
colonnade  ' of  the  Louvre,  for  he  had  been  penned  up 
in  it  by  Dr.  Perrault,  the  architect. 

It  was  high  noon  ; De  Scuderi  had  to  go  to  the 
Duchess  de  Montansier’s  ; and  so  the  visit  to  Master 
Rene  Cardillac’s  was  put  off  until  the  next  day. 
Mademoiselle,  however,  was  tormented  by  a most 
extraordinary  feeling  of  uneasiness.  The  young  man’s 
figure  was  constantly  before  her  eyes  ; and  deep  down 
in  her  memory  there  was  stirring  a dim  recollection 
that  she  had  seen  his  ■ face  and  features  somewhere 
before.  Her  sleep,  which  was  of  the  lightest,  was 
disturbed  by  troublesome  dreams.  She  fancied  she 
had  acted  frivolously  and  even  criminally  in  having 
delayed  to  grasp  the  hand  which  the  unhappy  wretch, 
who  was  sinking  into  the  abyss  of  ruin,  was  stretching 
up  towards  her  ; nay,  she  was  even  haunted  by  the 
thought  that  she  had  had  it  in  her  power  to  prevent  a 
fatal  event  from  taking  place  or  an  enormous  crime 
from  being  committed.  So,  as  soon  as  the  morning 
was  fully  come,  she  had  Martiniere  finish  her  toilet, 
and  drove  to  the  goldsmith,  taking  the  jewel-casket 
with  her. 

The  people  were  pouring  into  the  Rue  Nicaise,  to 
the  house  where  Cardillac  lived,  and  were  gathering 
about  his  door,  shouting,  screaming,  and  creating  a 
wild  tumult  of  noise  ; and  they  were  with  difficulty 
prevented  by  the  Marechaussee , who  had  drawn  a 
cordon  round  the  house,  from  forcing  their  way  in. 
Angry  voices  were  crying  in  a wild  confused  hubbub, 
“ Tear  him  to  pieces  ! pound  him  to  dust  ! the  accursed 
murderer  ! ” At  length  Desgrais  appeared  on  the  scene 
with  a strong  body  of  police,  who  formed  a passage 


It  was  constructed  after  plans  by  this  Claude  Perrault  in  1666-1670. 


1 86 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDLRI. 


through  the  heart  of  the  crowd.  The  house  door  flew 
open  and  a man  stepped  out  loaded  with  chains  ; and 
he  was  dragged  away  amidst  the  most  horrible  impre- 
cations of  the  furious  mob. 

At  the  moment  that  De  Scuderi,  who  was  half 
swooning  from  fright  and  her  apprehensions  that 
something  terrible  had  happened,  was  witness  of  this 
scene,  a shrill  piercing  scream  of  distress  rang  upon 
her  ears.  “ Go  on,  go  on,  right  forward,”  she  cried 
to  her  coachman,  almost  distracted.  Scattering  the 
dense  mass  of  people  by  a quick  clever  turn  of  his 
horses,  he  pulled  up  immediately  in  front  of  Cardillac’s 
door.  There  De  Scuderi  observed  Desgrais,  and  at  his 
feet  a young  girl,  as  beautiful  as  the  day,  with  di- 
shevelled hair,  only  half  dressed,  and  her  countenance 
stamped  with  desperate  anxiety  and  wild  with  despair. 
She  was  clasping  his  knees  and  crying  in  a tone  of  the 
most  terrible,  the  most  heart-rending  anguish,  “ Ob  ! he 
is  innocent ! he  is  innocent.”  In  vain  were  Desgrais’ 
efforts,  as  well  as  those  of  his  men,  to  make  her  leave 
hold  and  to  raise  her  up  from  the  floor.  At  last  a 
strong  brutal  fellow  laid  his  coarse  rough  hands  upon 
the  poor  girl  and  dragged  her  away  from  Desgrais  by 
main  force,  but  awkwardly  stumbling  let  her  drop,  so 
that  she  rolled  down  the  stone  steps  and  lay  in  the 
street,  without  uttering  a single  sound  more  ; she 
appeared  to  be  dead. 

Mademoiselle  could  no  longer  contain  herself.  “ For 
God’s  sake,  what  has  happened  ? What’s  all  this 
about  ? ” she  cried  as  she  quickly  opened  the  door  of 
her  coach  and  stepped  out.  The  crowd  respectfully 
made  way  for  the  estimable  lady.  She,  on  perceiving 
that  two  or  three  compassionate  women  had  raised  up 
the  girl  and  set  her  on  the  steps,  where  they  were 
rubbing  her  forehead  with  aromatic  waters,  approached 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


187 


Desgrais  and  repeated  her  question  with  vehemence. 
“ A horrible  thing  has  happened,”  said  Desgrais. 
“ Rene  Cardillac  was  found  this  morning  murdered, 
stabbed  to  the  heart  with  a dagger.  His  journeyman 
Olivier  Brusson  is  the  murderer.  That  was  he  who 
was  just  led  away  to  prison.”  “And  the  girl?”  ex- 
claimed Mademoiselle “ Is  Madelon,  Cardillac’s 

daughter,”  broke  in  Desgrais.  “Yon  abandoned 
wretch  is  her  lover.  And  she’s  screaming  and  crying, 
and  protesting  that  Olivier  is  innocent,  quite  innocent. 
But  the  real  truth  is  she  is  cognisant  of  the  deed, 
and  I must  have  her  also  taken  to  the  conciergerie 
(prison).” 

Saying  which,  Desgrais  cast  a glance  of  such  spiteful 
malicious  triumph  upon  the  girl  that  De  Scuderi 
trembled.  Madelon  was  just  beginning  to  breathe 
again,  but  she  still  lay  with  her  eyes  closed  incapable 
of  either  sound  or  motion  ; and  they  did  not  know 
what  to  do,  whether  to  take  her  into  the  house  or 
to  stay  with  her  longer  until  she  came  round  again. 
Mademoiselle’s  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  was 
greatly  agitated,  as  she  looked  upon  the  innocent 
angel  ; Desgrais  and  his  myrmidons  made  her  shudder. 
Downstairs  came  a heavy  rumbling  noise  ; they  were 
bringing  down  Cardillac’s  corpse.  Quickly  making 
up  her  mind,  De  Scuderi  said  loudly,  “ I will  take  the 
girl  with  me  ; you  may  attend  to  everything  else, 
Desgrais.”  A muttered  wave  of  applause  swept 
through  the  crowd.  They  lifted  up  the  girl,  whilst 
everybody  crowded  round  and  hundreds  of  arms  were 
proffered  to  assist  them  ; like  one  floating  in  the  air 
the  young  girl  was  carried  to  the  coach  and  placed 
within  it, — blessings  being  showered  from  the  lips  of 
all  upon  the  noble  lady  who  had  come  to  snatch  inno- 
cence from  the  scaffold. 


1 88 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


The  efforts  of  Seron,  the  most  celebrated  physician 
in  Paris,  to  bring  Madelon  back  to  herself  were  at 
length  crowned  with  success,  for  she  had  lain  for  hours 
in  a dead  swoon,  utterly  unconscious.  What  the 
physician  began  was  completed  by  De  Scuderi,  who 
strove  to  excite  the  mild  rays  of  hope  in  the  girl’s  soul, 
till  at  length  relief  came  to  her  in  the  form  of  a violent 
fit  of  tears  and  sobbing.  She  managed  to  relate  all 
that  had  happened,  although  from  time  to  time  her 
heart-rending  grief  got  the  upper  hand,  and  her  voice 
was  choked  with  convulsive  sobs. 

About  midnight  she  had  been  awakened  by  a light 
tap  at  her  chamber  door,  and  heard  Olivier's  voice 
imploring  her  to  get  up  at  once,  as  her  father  was 
dying.  Though  almost  stunned  wTith  dismay,  she 
started  up  and  opened  the  door,  and  saw  Olivier  with 
a light  in  his  hand,  pale  and  dreadfully  agitated,  and 
dripping  with  perspiration.  He  led  the  way  into  her 
father’s  workshop,  with  an  unsteady  gait,  and  she 
followed  him.  There  lay  her  father  with  fixed  staring 
eyes,  his  throat  rattling  in  the  agonies  of  death. 
With  a loud  wail  she  threw  herself  upon  him,  and  then 
first  noticed  his  bloody  shirt.  Olivier  softly  drew  her 
away  and  set  to  work  to  wash  a wound  in  her  father’s 
left  breast  with  a traumatic  balsam,  and  to  bind  it  up. 
During  this  operation  her  father’s  senses  came  back  to 
him  ; his  throat  ceased  to  rattle  ; and  he  bent,  first 
upon  her  and  then  upon  Olivier,  a glance  full  of 
feeling,  took  her  hand,  and  placed  it  in  Olivier’s,  fer- 
vently pressing  them  together.  She  and  Olivier  both 
fell  upon  their  knees  beside  her  father’s  bed  ; he  raised 
himself  up  with  a cry  of  agony,  but  at  once  sank  back 
again,  and  in  a deep  sigh  breathed  his  last.  Then  they 
both  gave  way  to  their  grief  and  sorrow,  and  wept 
aloud. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD  ERL  189 

Olivier  related  how  during  a walk,  on  which  he  had 
been  commanded  by  his  master  to  attend  him,  the 
latter  had  been  murdered  in  his  presence,  and  how 
through  the  greatest  exertions  he  had  carried  the 
heavy  man  home,  whom  he  did  not  believe  to  have 
been  fatally  wounded. 

When  morning  dawned  the  people  of  the  house,  who 
had  heard  the  lumbering  noises,  and  the  loud  weeping 
and  lamenting  during  the  night,  came  up  and  found 
them  still  kneeling  in  helpless  trouble  by  her  father’s 
corpse.  An  alarm  was  raised  ; the  Marechausse'e  made 
their  way  into  the  house,  and  dragged  off  Olivier  to 
prison  as  the  murderer  of  his  master.  Madelon  added 
the  most  touching  description  of  her  beloved  Olivier’s 
goodness,  and  steady  industry,  and  faithfulness.  He 
had  honoured  his  master  highly,  as  though  he  had  been 
his  own  father  ; and  the  latter  had  fully  reciprocated 
this  affection,  and  had  chosen  Brusson,  in  spite  of  his 
poverty,  to  be  his  son-in-law,  since  his  skill  was  equal 
to  his  faithfulness  and  the  nobleness  of  his  character. 
All  this  the  girl  related  with  deep,  true,  heart-felt  emo- 
tion ; and  she  concluded  by  saying  that  if  Olivier  had 
thrust  his  dagger  into  her  father’s  breast  in  her  own 
presence  she  should  take  it  for  some  illusion  caused  by 
Satan,  rather  than  believe  that  Olivier  could  be  capable 
of  such  a horrible  wicked  crime. 

De  Scuderi,  most  deeply  moved  by  Madelon’s  un- 
utterable sufferings,  and  quite  ready  to  regard  poor 
Olivier  as  innocent,  instituted  inquiries,  and  she  found 
that  all  Madelon  had  said  about  the  intimate  terms  on 
which  master  and  journeyman  had  lived  was  fully  con- 
firmed. The  people  in  the  same  house,  as  well  as 
the  neighbours,  unanimously  agreed  in  commending 
Olivier  as  a pattern  of  goodness,  morality,  faithfulness, 
and  industry  ; nobody  knew  anything  evil  about  him, 


190 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


and  yet  when  mention  was  made  of  his  heinous  deed, 
they  all  shrugged  their  shoulders  and  thought  there 
was  something  passing  comprehension  in  it. 

Olivier,  on  being  arraigned  before  the  Chambre  Ar- 
dente , denied  the  deed  imputed  to  him,  as  Mademoiselle 
learned,  with  the  most  steadfast  firmness  and  with  hon- 
est sincerity,  maintaining  that  his  master  had  been  at- 
tacked in  the  street  in  his  presence  and  stabbed,  that 
then,  as  there  were  still  signs  of  life  in  him,  he  had 
himself  carried  him  home,  where  Cardillac  had  soon 
afterwards  expired.  And  all  this  too  harmonised  with 
Madelon’s  account. 

Again  and  again  and  again  De  Scuderi  had  the  mi- 
nutest details  of  the  terrible  event  repeated  to  her.  She 
inquired  minutely  whether  there  had  ever  been  a quar- 
rel between  master  and  journeyman,  whether  Olivier 
was  perhaps  not  subject  occasionally  to  those  hasty 
fits  of  passion  which  often  attack  even  the  most  good- 
natured  of  men  like  a blind  madness,  impelling  the 
commission  of  deeds  which  appear  to  be  done  quite  in- 
dependent of  voluntary  action.  But  in  proportion  as 
Madelon  spoke  with  increasing  heartfelt  warmth  of  the 
quiet  domestic  happiness  in  which  the  three  had  lived, 
united  by  the  closest  ties  of  affection,  every  shadow  of 
suspicion  against  poor  Olivier,  now  being  tried  for  his 
life,  vanished  away.  Scrupulously  weighing  every 
point  and  starting  with  the  assumption  that  Olivier,  in 
spite  of  all  the  things  which  spoke  so  loudly  for  his  in- 
nocence, was  nevertheless  Cardillac’s  murderer,  De 
Scuderi  did  not  find  any  motive  within  the  bounds  of 
possibility  for  the  hideous  deed  ; for  from  every  point 
of  view  it  would  necessarily  destroy  his  happiness.  He 
is  poor  but  clever.  He  has  succeeded  in  gaining  the 
good-will  of  the  most  renowned  master  of  his  trade  ; he 
loves  his  master’s  daughter  ; his  master  looks  upon  his 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD  & RI.  191 

love  with  a favourable  eye  ; happiness  and  prosperity 
seem  likely  to  be  his  lot  through  life.  But  now  sup- 
pose that,  provoked  in  some  way  that  God  alone  may 
know,  Olivier  had  been  so  overmastered  by  anger  as  to 
make  a murderous  attempt  upon  his  benefactor,  his 
father,  what  diabolical  hypocrisy  he  must  have  prac- 
tised to  have  behaved  after  the  deed  in  the  way  in 
which  he  really  did  behave.  Firmly  convinced  of 
Olivier’s  innocence,  Mademoiselle  made  up  her  mind 
to  save  the  unhappy  young  man  at  no  matter  what  cost. 

Before  appealing,  however,  to  the  king’s  mercy,  it 
seemed  to  her  that  the  most  advisable  step  to  take 
would  be  to  call  upon  La  Regnie,  and  direct  his  at- 
tention to  all  the  circumstances  that  could  not  fail  to 
speak  for  Olivier’s  innocence,  and  so  perhaps  awaken 
in  the  President’s  mind  a feeling  of  interest  favourable 
to  the  accused,  which  might  then  communicate  itself  to 
the  judges  with  beneficial  results. 

La  Regnie  received  De  Scuderi  with  all  the  great 
respect  to  which  the  venerable  lady,  highly  honoured 
as  she  was  by  the  king  himself,  might  justly  lay  claim. 
He  listened  quietly  to  all  that  she  had  to  adduce  with 
respect  to  the  terrible  crime,  and  Olivier’s  relations 
to  the  victim  and  his  daughter,  and  his  character. 
Nevertheless  the  only  proof  he  gave  that  her  words 
were  not  falling  upon  totally  deaf  ears  was  a slight 
and  well-nigh  mocking  smile  ; and  in  the  same  way  he 
heard  her  protestations  and  admonitions,  which  were 
frequently  interrupted  by  tears,  that  the  judge  was 
not  the  enemy  of  the  accused,  but  must  also  duly  give 
heed  to  anything  that  spoke  in  his  favour.  When  at 
length  Mademoiselle  paused,  quite  exhausted,  and 
dried  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  La  Regnie  began,  “ It 
does  honour  to  the  excellence  of  your  heart,  Madem- 
oiselle, that,  being  moved  by  the  tears  of  a young  love- 


192 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERL 


sick  girl,  you  believe  everything  she  tells  you,  and 
none  the  less  so  that  you  are  incapable  of  conceiving 
the  thought  of  such  an  atrocious  deed  ; but  not  so  is 
it  with  the  judge,  who  is  wont  to  rend  asunder  the  mask 
of  brazen  hypocrisy.  Of  course  I need  not  tell  you 
that  it  is  not  part  of  my  office  to  unfold  to  every  one 
who  asks  me  the  various  stages  of  a criminal  trial. 
Mademoiselle,  I do  my  duty  and  trouble  myself  little 
about  the  judgment  of  the  world.  All  miscreants  shall 
tremble  before  the  Chambre  Ardente,  which  knows  no 
other  punishment  except  the  scaffold  and  the  stake. 
But  since  I do  not  wish  you,  respected  lady,  to  con- 
ceive of  me  as  a monster  of  hard-heartedness  and 
cruelty,  suffer  me  in  a few  words  to  put  clearly  before 
you  the  guilt  of  this  young  reprobate,  who,  thank 
Heaven,  has  been  overtaken  by  the  avenging  arm  of 
justice.  Your  sagacious  mind  will  then  bid  you  look 
with  scorn  upon  your  own  good  kindness,  which  does 
you  so  much  honour,  but  which  would  never  under  any 
circumstances  be  fitting  in  me. 

“Well  then!  Rene  Cardillac  is  found  in  the  morn- 
ing stabbed  to  the  heart  with  a dagger.  The  only 
persons  with  him  are  his  journeyman  Olivier  Brusson 
and  his  own  daughter.  In  Olivier’s  room,  amongst 
other  things,  is  found  a dagger  covered  with  blood, 
still  fresh,  which  dagger  fits  exactly  into  the  wound. 
Olivier  says,  ‘ Cardillac  was  cut  down  at  night  before 
my  eyes.’  ‘ Somebody  attempted  to  rob  him  ? ’ ‘I 
don’t  know.’  ‘You  say  you  went  with  him,  how  then 
were  you  not  able  to  keep  off  the  murderer,  or  hold 
him  fast,  or  cry  out  for  help  ? ’ ‘ My  master  walked 

fifteen,  nay,  fully  twenty  paces  in  front  of  me,  and  I 
followed  him.’  ‘But  why,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  at 
such  a distance?’  ‘My  master  would  have  it  so.’ 
‘ But  tell  us  then  what  Master  Cardillac  was  doing 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD £l RI. 


l93 


out  in  the  streets  at  so  late  an  hour  ? ’ ‘ That  I cannot 

say.’  ‘ But  you  have  never  before  known  him  to  leave 
the  house  after  nine  o’clock  in  the  evening,  have  you  ?’ 
Here  Olivier  falters  ; he  is  confused  ; he  sighs  ; he 
bursts  into  tears  ; he  protests  by  all  that  is  holy  that 
Cardillac  really  went  out  on  the  night  in  question,  and 
then  met  with  his  death.  But  now  your  particular 
attention,  please,  Mademoiselle.  It  has  been  proved 
to  absolute  certainty  that  Cardillac  never  left  the 
house  that  night,  and  so,  of  course,  Olivier’s  assertion 
that  he  went  out  with  him  is  an  impudent  lie.  The 
house  door  is  provided  with  a ponderous  lock,  which 
on  locking  and  unlocking  makes  a loud  grating  echo- 
ing noise  ; moreover,  the  wings  of  the  door  squeak 
and  creak  horribly  on  their  hinges,  so  that,  as  we  have 
proved  by  repeated  experiments,  the  noise  is  heard  all 
the  way  up  to  the  garrets.  Now  in  the  bottom  story, 
and  so  of  course  close  to  the  street  door,  lives  old 
Master  Claude  Patru  and  his  housekeeper,  a person  of 
nearly  eighty  years  of  age,  but  still  lively  and  nimble. 
Now  these  two  people  heard  Cardillac  come  downstairs 
punctually  at  nine  o’clock  that  evening,  according  to 
his  usual  practice,  and  lock  and  bolt  the  door  with 
considerable  noise,  and  then  go  up  again,  where  they 
further  heard  him  read  the  evening  prayers  aloud,  and 
then,  to  judge  by  the  banging  of  doors,  go  to  his  own 
sleeping-chamber.  Master  Claude,  like  many  old 
people,  suffers  from  sleeplessness  ; and  that  night  too 
he  could  not  close  an  eye.  And  so,  somewhere  about 
half-past  nine  it  seems,  his  old  housekeeper  went  into 
the  kitchen  (to  get  into  which  she  had  to  cross  the 
passage)  for  a light,  and  then  came  and  sat  down  at 
the  table  beside  Master  Claude  with  an  old  Chronicle, 
out  of  which  she  read  ; whilst  the  old  man,  following 
the  train  of  his  thoughts,  first  sat  down  in  his  easy* 
Vol.  II.— 13 


194 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD&RL 


chair,  and  then  stood  up  again,  and  paced  softly  and 
slowly  up  and  down  the  room  in  order  to  bring  on 
weariness  and  sleepiness.  All  remained  quiet  and 
still  until  after  midnight.  Then  they  heard  quick 
steps  above  them  and  a heavy  fall  like  some  big  weight 
being  thrown  on  the  floor,  and  then  soon  after  a 
muffled  groaning.  A peculiar  feeling  of  uneasiness 
and  dreadful  suspense  took  possession  of  them  both. 
It  was  horror  at  the  bloody  deed  which  had  just  been 
committed,  wrhich  passed  out  beside  them.  The  bright 
morning  came  and  revealed  to  the  light  what  had  been 
begun  in  the  hours  of  darkness.” 

“ But,”  interrupted  De  Scuderi,  “but  by  all  the  saints, 
tell  me  what  motive  for  this  diabolical  deed  you  can 
find  in  any  of  the  circumstances  which  I just  now 
repeated  to  you  at  such  length?”  “Hm!”  rejoined 
La  Regnie,  “ Cardillac  was  not  poor— he  had  some 
valuable  stones  in  his  possession.”  “ But  would  not  his 
daughter  inherit  everything?”  continued  De  Scuderi. 
“You  are  forgetting  that  Olivier  was  to  be  Cardillac's 
son-in-law.”  “ But  perhaps  he  had  to  share  or  only 
do  the  murderous  deed  for  others,”  said  La  Regnie. 
“ Share  ? do  a murderous  deed  for  others  ? ” asked  De 
Scuderi,  utterly  astounded.  “ I must  tell  you,  Mad- 
emoiselle,” continued  the  President,  “that  Olivier’s 
blood  would  long  ago  have  been  shed  in  the  Place 
Greve,  had  not  his  crime  been  bound  up  with  that 
deeply  enshrouded  mystery  which  has  hitherto  exer- 
cised such  a threatening  sway  over  all  Paris.  It  is 
evident  that  Olivier  belongs  to  that  accursed  band  of 
miscreants  who,  laughing  to  scorn  all  the  watchfulness, 
and  efforts,  and  strict  investigations  of  the  courts,  have 
been  able  to  carry  out  their  plans  so  safely  and  unpun- 
ished. Through  him  all  shall — all  must  be  cleared  up. 
Cardillac's  wound  is  precisely  similar  to  those  borne 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDLRI. 


195 


by  all  the  persons  who  have  been  found  murdered  and 
robbed  in  the  streets  and  houses.  But  the  most  decisive 
fact  is  that  since  the  time  Olivier  Brusson  has  been 
under  arrest  all  these  murders  and  robberies  have 
ceased.  The  streets  are  now  as  safe  by  night  as  they 
are  by  day.  These  things  are  proof  enough  that  Olivier 
probably  was  at  the  head  of  this  band  of  assassins.  As 
yet  he  will  not  confess  it  ; but  there  are  means  of 
making  him  speak  against  his  will.”  “And  Madelon,” 
exclaimed  De  Scuderi,  “and  Madelon,  the  faithful, 
innocent  dove  ! ” “ Oh  ! ” said  La  Regnie,  with  a ven- 

omous smile,  “ Oh  ! but  who  will  answer  to  me  for  it 
that  she  also  is  not  an  accomplice  in  the  plot  ? What 
does  she  care  about  her  father’s  death  ? Her  tears  are 
only  shed  for  this  murderous  rascal.”  “What  do  you 
say?”  screamed  De  Scuderi;  “it  cannot  possibly  be. 
Her  father — this  girl  ! ” “ Oh  ! ” went  on  La  Regnie, 

“Oh,  but  pray  recollect  De  Brinvillier.  You  will  be 
so  good  as  to  pardon  me  if  I perhaps  soon  find  myself 
compelled  to  take  your  favourite  from  your  protection, 
and  have  her  cast  into  the  Conciergerie.” 

This  terrible  suspicion  made  Mademoiselle  shudder. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  no  faithfulness,  no  virtue,  could 
stand  fast  before  this  fearful  man  ; he  seemed  to  espy 
murder  and  blood-guiltiness  in  the  deepest  and  most 
secret  thoughts.  She  rose  to  go.  “ Be  human  ! ” was 
all  that  she  could  stammer  out  in  her  distress,  and  she 
had  difficulty  in  breathing.  Just  on  the  point  of  going 
down  the  stairs,  to  the  top  of  which  the  President  had 
accompanied  her  with  ceremonious  courtesy,  she  was 
suddenly  struck  by  a strange  thought,  at  which  she 
herself  was  surprised.  “And  could  I be  allowed  to  see 
this  unhappy  Olivier  Brusson?”  she  asked,  turning 
round  quickly  to  the  President.  He,  however,  looked 
at  her  somewhat  suspiciously,  but  his  face  was  soon 


196  MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD  £ RI. 


contracted  into  the  forbidding  smile  so  characteristic 
of  him.  “Of  course,  honoured  lady,”  said  he,  “relying 
upon  your  feelings  and  the  little  voice  within  you 
more  than  upon  what  has  taken  place  before  our  very 
eyes,  you  will  yourself  prove  Olivier’s  guilt  or  inno- 
cence, I perceive.  If  you  are  not  afraid  to  see  the 
dark  abodes  of  crime,  and  if  you  think  there  will  be 
nothing  too  revolting  in  looking  upon  pictures  of 
depravity  in  all  its  stages,  then  the  doors  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie  shall  be  opened  to  you  in  two  hours  from 
now.  You  shall  have  this  Olivier,  whose  fate  excites 
your  interest  so  much,  presented  to  you.” 

To  tell  the  truth,  De  Scuderi  could  by  no  means  con- 
vince herself  of  the  young  man’s  guilt.  Although  every- 
thing spoke  against  him,  and  no  judge  in  the  world 
could  have  acted  differently  from  wdiat  La  Regnie  did 
in  face  of  such  conclusive  circumstantial  evidence,  yet 
all  these  base  suspicions  were  completely  outweighed 
by  the  picture  of  domestic  happiness  which  Madelon 
had  painted  for  her  in  such  warm  lifelike  colours  ; and 
hence  she  would  rather  adopt  the  idea  of  some  unac- 
countable mystery  than  believe  in  the  truth  of  that  at 
which  her  inmost  heart  revolted. 

She  was  thinking  that  she  would  get  Olivier  to  repeat 
once  more  all  the  events  of  that  ill-omened  night  and 
worm  her  way  as  much  as  possible  into  any  secret  there 
might  be  which  remained  sealed  to  the  judges,  since  for 
their  purposes  it  did  not  seem  worth  while  to  give 
themselves  any  further  trouble  about  the  matter. 

On  arriving  at  the  Conciergerie,  De  Scuderi  was  led 
into  a large  light  apartment.  She  had  not  long  to  wait 
before  she  heard  the  rattle  of  chains.  Olivier  Brusson 
was  brought  in.  But  the  moment  he  appeared  in  the 
doorway  De  Scuderi  sank  on  the  floor  fainting.  When 
she  recovered,  Olivier  had  disappeared.  She  demanded 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDÜRI.  . 


19  7 


impetuously  that  she  should  be  taken  to  her  carriage  ; 
she  would  go — go  at  once,  that  very  moment,  from  the 
apartments  of  wickedness  and  infamy.  For  oh  ! at  the 
very  first  glance  she  had  recognised  in  Olivier  Brusson 
the  young  man  who  had  thrown  the  note  into  the  car- 
riage on  the  Pont  Neuf,  and  who  had  brought  her  the 
casket  and  the  jewels.  Now  all  doubts  were  at  an  end  ; 
La  Regnie’s  horrible  suspicion  was  fully  confirmed. 
Olivier  Brusson  belonged  to  the  atrocious  band  of 
assassins  ; undoubtedly  he  murdered  his  master.  And 
Madelon  ? Never  before  had  Mademoiselle  been  so 
bitterly  deceived  by  the  deepest  promptings  of  her 
heart  ; and  now,  shaken  to  the  very  depths  of  her  soul 
by  the  discovery  of  a power  of  evil  on  earth  in  the 
existence  of  which  she  had  not  hitherto  believed,  she 
began  to  despair  of  all  truth.  She  allowed  the  hideous 
suspicion  to  enter  her  mind  that  Madelon  was  involved 
in  the  complot,  and  might  have  had  a hand  in  the 
infamous  deed  of  blood.  As  is  frequently  the  case  with 
the  human  mind,  that,  once  it  has  laid  hold  upon  an 
idea,  it  diligently  seeks  for  colours,  until  it  finds  them, 
with  which  to  deck  out  the  picture  in  tints  ever  more 
vivid  and  ever  more  glaring ; so  also  De  Scuderi,  on 
reflecting  again  upon  all  the  circumstances  of  the  deed, 
as  well  as  upon  the  minutest  features  in  Madelon’s  be- 
haviour, found  many  things  to  strengthen  her  suspicion. 
And  many  points  which  hitherto  she  had  regarded  as 
a proof  of  innocence  and  purity  now  presented  them- 
selves as  undeniable  tokens  of  abominable  wickedness 
and  studied  hypocrisy.  Madelon’s  heartrending  ex- 
pressions of  trouble,  and  her  floods  of  piteous  tears, 
might  very  well  have  been  forced  from  her,  not  so 
much  from  fear  of  seeing  her  lover  perish  on  the  scaf- 
fold, as  of  falling  herself  by  the  hand  of  the  executioner. 
To  get  rid  at  once  of  the  serpent  she  was  nourishing  in 


198  MADEMOISELLE  DE  SLUDER!. 

her  bosom,  this  was  the  determination  with  which 
Mademoiselle  got  out  of  her  carriage. 

When  she  entered  her  room,  Madelon  threw  herself 
at  her  feet.  With  her  lovely  eyes — none  of  God’s 
angels  had  truer — directed  heavenwards,  and  with  her 
hands  folded  upon  her  heaving  bosom,  she  wept  and 
wailed,  craving  help  and  consolation.  Controlling  her- 
self by  a painful  effort,  De  Scuderi,  whilst  endeavour- 
ing to  impart  as  much  earnestness  and  calmness  as  she 
possibly  could  to  the  tone  in  which  she  spoke,  said, 
“Go — -go  — comfort  yourself  with  the  thought  that 
righteous  punishment  will  overtake  yon  murderer  for 
his  villainous  deeds.  May  the  Holy  Virgin  forbid  that 
you  yourself  come  to  labour  under  the  heavy  burden  of 
blood-guiltiness.”  “Oh!  all  hope  is  now  lost ! ” cried 
Madelon,  with  a piercing  shriek,  as  she  reeled  to  the 
floor  senseless.  Leaving  La  Martiniere  to  attend  to  the 
girl,  Mademoiselle  withdrew  into  another  room. 

De  Scuderi’s  heart  was  torn  and  bleeding ; she  felt 
herself  at  variance  with  all  mankind,  and  no  longer 
wished  to  live  in  a world  so  full  of  diabolical  deceit. 
She  reproached  Destiny  which  in  bitter  mockery  had 
so  many  years  suffered  her  to  go  on  strengthening  her 
belief  in  virtue  and  truth,  only  to  destroy  now  in  her 
old  age  the  beautiful  images  which  had  been  her  guid- 
ing-stars through  life. 

She  heard  Martiniere  lead  away  Madelon,  who  was 
sighing  softly  and  lamenting.  “ Alas  ! and  she — she  too 
— these  cruel  men  have  infatuated  her.  Poor,  miserable 
me  ! Poor,  unhappy  Olivier  ! ” The  tones  of  her  voice 
cut  De  Scuderi  to  the  heart  ; again  there  stirred  in  the 
depths  of  her  soul  a dim  presentiment  that  there  was 
some  mystery  connected  with  the  case,  and  also  the  be- 
lief in  Olivier’s  innocence  returned.  Her  mind  dis- 
tracted by  the  most  contradictory  feelings,  she  cried, 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD&RL 


199 


“What  spirit  of  darkness  is  it  which  has  entangled  me 
in  this  terrible  affair  ? I am  certain  it  will  be  the  death 
of  me.”  At  this  juncture  Baptiste  came  in,  pale  and 
terrified,  with  the  announcement  that  Desgrais  was  at 
the  door.  Ever  since  the  trial  of  the  infamous  La 
Voisin  the  appearance  of  Desgrais  in  any  house  was  the 
sure  precursor  of  some  criminal  charge  ; hence  came 
Baptiste’s  terror,  and  therefore  it  was  that  Mademoiselle 
asked  him  with  a gracious  smile,  “ What’s  the  matter 
with  you,  Baptiste  ? The  name  Scuderi  has  been  found 
on  La  Voisin’s  list,  has  it  not,  eh  ? ” “ For  God’s  sake,” 
replied  Baptiste,  trembling  in  every  limb,  “how  can 
you  speak  of  such  a thing?  But  Desgrais,  that  terrible 
man  Desgrais,  behaves  so  mysteriously,  and  is  so 
urgent  ; he  seems  as  if  he  couldn't  wait  a moment 
before  seeing  you.”  “Well,  then,  Baptiste,”  said  De 
Scuderi,  “then  bring  him  up  at  once — the  man  who  is 
so  terrible  to  you  ; in  me,  at  least,  he  will  excite  no 
anxiety.” 

“ The  President  La  Regnie  has  sent  me  to  you, 
Mademoiselle,”  said  Desgrais  on  stepping  into  the  room, 
“ with  a request  which  he  would  hardly  dare  hope  you 
could  grant,  did  he  not  know  your  virtue  and  your 
courage.  But  the  last  means  of  bringing  to  light  a vile 
deed  of  blood  lie  in  your  hands  ; and  you  have  already 
of  your  own  accord  taken  an  active  part  in  the  notori- 
ous trial  which  the  Chambre  Ar  deute,  and  in  fact  all  of 
us,  are  watching  with  breathless  interest.  Olivier  Brus- 
son  has  been  half  a madman  since  he  saw  you.  He  was 
beginning  to  show  signs  of  compliance  and  a readiness 
to  make  a confession,  but  he  now  swears  again,  by  all 
the  powers  of  Heaven,  that  he  is  perfectly  innocent  of 
the  murder  of  Cardillac  ; and  yet  he  says  he  is  ready  to 
die  the  death  which  he  has  deserved.  You  will  please 
observe,  Mademoiselle,  that  the  last  clause  evidently  has 


200 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


reference  to  other  crimes  which  weigh  upon  his  con- 
science. But  vain  are  all  our  efforts  to  get  him  to 
utter  a single  word  more  ; even  the  threat  of  torture 
has  been  of  no  avail.  He  begs  and  prays,  and  beseeches 
us  to  procure  him  an  interview  with  you  ; for  to  you, 
to  you  only,  will  he  confess  all.  Pray  deign,  Madem- 
oiselle, to  hear  Brusson’s  confession.”  “What!”  ex- 
claimed De  Scuderi  indignantly,  “ am  I to  be  made  an 
instrument  of  by  a criminal  court,  am  I to  abuse  this 
unhappy  man’s  confidence  to  bring  him  to  the  scaffold  ? 
No,  Desgrais.  However  vile  a murderer  Brusson  may 
be,  I would  never,  never  deceive  him  in  that  villainous 
way.  I don’t  want  to  know  anything  about  his  secrets  ; 
in  any  case  they  would  be  locked  up  within  my  own 
bosom  as  if  they  were  a holy  confession  made  to  a 
priest.”  “ Perhaps,”  rejoined  Desgrais  with  a subtle 
smile,  “ perhaps,  Mademoiselle,  you  would  alter  your 
mind  after  you  had  heard  Brusson.  Did  you  not  your- 
self exhort  the  President  to  be  human  ? And  he  is 
being  so,  in  that  he  gives  way  to  Brusson’s  foolish  re- 
quest, and  thus  resorts  to  the  last  means  before  putting 
him  to  the  rack,  for  which  he  was  wTell  ripe  some  time 
ago.”  De  Scuderi  shuddered  involuntarily.  “And 
then,  honoured  lady,”  continued  Desgrais,  “ it  will  not 
be  demanded  of  you  that  you  again  enter  those  dark 
gloomy  rooms  which  filled  you  with  such  horror  and 
aversion.  Olivier  shall  be  brought  to  you  here  in  your 
own  house  as  a free  man,  but  at  night,  when  all  excite- 
ment can  be  avoided.  Then,  without  being  even  lis- 
tened to,  though  of  course  he  would  be  watched,  he 
may  without  constraint  make  a clean  confession  to  you. 
That  you  personally  will  have  nothing  to  fear  from  the 
wretch — for  that  I will  answer  to  you  with  my  life. 
He  mentions  your  name  with  the  intensest  veneration. 
He  reiterates  again  and  again  that  it  is  nothing  but  his 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


201 


dark  destiny,  which  prevented  him  seeing  you  before, 
that  has  brought  his  life  into  jeopardy  in  this  way. 
Moreover,  you  will  be  at  liberty  to  divulge  what  you 
think  well  of  the  things  which  Brusson  confesses  to 
you.  And  what  more  could  we  indeed  compel  you  to 
do  ?” 

De  Scuderi  bent  her  eyes  upon  the  floor  in  reflection. 
She  felt  she  must  obey  the  Higher  Power  which  was 
thus  demanding  of  her  that  she  should  effect  the  dis- 
closure of  some  terrible  secret,  and  she  felt,  too,  as 
though  she  could  not  draw  back  out  of  the  tangled 
skein  into  which  she  had  run  without  any  conscious 
effort  of  will.  Suddenly  making  up  her  mind,  she  re- 
plied with  dignity,  “ God  will  give  me  firmness  and 
self-command.  Bring  Brusson  here  ; I will  speak  with 
him.” 

Just  as  on  the  previous  occasion  when  Brusson 
brought  the  casket,  there  came  a knock  at  De  Scuderi’s 
house  door  at  midnight.  Baptiste,  forewarned  of  this 
nocturnal  visit,  at  once  opened  the  door.  De  Scuderi 
felt  an  icy  shiver  run  through  her  as  she  gathered  from 
the  light  footsteps  and  hollow  murmuring  voices  that 
the  guards  who.  had  brought  Brusson  were  taking  up 
their  stations  about  the  passages  of  the  house. 

At  length  the  room  door  was  softly  opened.  Des- 
grais  came  in,  followed  by  Olivier  Brusson,  freed  from 
his  fetters,  and  dressed  in  his  own  neat  clothing.  The 
officer  bowed  respectfully  and  said,  “ Here  is  Brusson, 
honoured  lady,”  and  then  left  the  room.  Brusson  fell 
upon  his  knees  before  Mademoiselle,  and  raised  his 
folded  hands  in  entreaty,  whilst  copious  tears  ran  down 
his  cheeks. 

De  Scuderi  turned  pale  and  looked  down  upon  him 
without  being  able  to  utter  a word.  Though  his  fea- 
tures were  now  gaunt  and  hollow  from  trouble  and  an- 


202 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


guish  and  pain,  yet  an  expression  of  the  truest  staunch- 
est honesty  shone  upon  his  countenance.  The  longer 
Mademoiselle  allowed  her  eyes  to  rest  upon  his  face, 
the  more  forcibly  was  she  reminded  of  some  loved  per- 
son, whom  she  could  not  in  any  way  clearly  call  to 
mind.  All  her  feelings  of  shivery  uncomfortableness 
left  her  ; she  forgot  that  it  was  Cardillac’s  murderer 
who  was  kneeling  before  her  ; she  spoke  in  the  calm 
pleasing  tone  of  goodwill  that  was  characteristic  of  her, 
“Well,  Brusson,  what  have  you  to  tell  me  ? ” He,  still 
kneeling,  heaved  a sigh  of  unspeakable  sadness,  that 
came  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  “ Oh  ! honoured, 
highly  esteemed  lady,  can  you  have  lost  all  traces  of 
recollection  of  me  ? ” Mademoiselle  scanned  his  fea- 
tures more  narrowly,  and  replied  that  she  had  certainly 
discovered  in  his  face  a resemblance  to  some  one  she 
had  once  loved,  and  that  it  was  entirely  owing  to  this 
resemblance  that  she  had  overcome  her  detestation  of 
the  murderer,  and  was  listening  to  him  calmly. 

Brusson  was  deeply  hurt  at  these  words  ; he  rose 
hastily  to  his  feet  and  took  a step  backwards,  fixing 
his  eyes  gloomily  on  the  floor.  “ Then  you  have  com- 
pletely forgotten  Anne  Guiot?”  he  said  moodily;  “it 
is  her  son  Olivier, — the  boy  whom  you  often  tossed  on 
your  lap — who  now  stands  before  you.”  “ Oh  help  me, 
good  Heaven  ! ” exclaimed  Mademoiselle,  covering  her 
face  with  both  hands  and  sinking  back  upon  the  cush- 
ions. And  reason  enough  she  had  to  be  thus  terribly 
affected.  Anne  Guiot,  the  daughter  of  an  impoverished 
burgher,  had  lived  in  De  Scuderi’s  house  from  a little 
girl,  and  had  been  brought  up  by  Mademoiselle  with 
all  the  care  and  faithfulness  which  a mother  expends 
upon  her  own  child.  Now  when  she  was  grown  up  there 
came  a modest  good-looking  young  man,  Claude  Brus- 
son by  name,  and  he  wooed  the  girl.  And  since  he  was 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


203 


a thoroughly  clever  watchmaker,  who  would  be  sure  to 
find  a very  good  living  in  Paris,  and  since  Anne  had 
also  grown  to  be  truly  fond  of  him,  De  Scuderi  had 
no  scruples  about  giving  her  consent  to  her  adopted 
daughter’s  marriage.  The  young  people,  having  set 
up  housekeeping,  led  a quiet  life  of  domestic  happi- 
ness ; and  the  ties  of  affection  were  knit  still  closer  by 
the  birth  of  a marvellously  pretty  boy,  the  perfect 
image  of  his  lovely  mother. 

De  Scuderi  made  a complete  idol  of  little  Olivier, 
carrying  him  off  from  his  mother  for  hours  and  days  to- 
gether to  caress  him  and  to  fondle  him.  Hence  the  boy 
grew  quite  accustomed  to  her,  and  would  just  as  will- 
ingly be  with  her  as  with  his  mother.  Three  years 
passed  away,  when  the  trade-envy  of  Brusson’s  fellow- 
artificers  made  them  concert  together  against  him,  so 
that  his  business  decreased  day  by  day,  until  at  last 
he  could  hardly  earn  enough  for  a bare  subsistence. 
Along  with  this  he  felt  an  ardent  longing  to  see  once 
more  his  beautiful  native  city  of  Geneva  ; accordingly 
the  small  family  moved  thither,  in  spite  of  De  Scuderi’s 
opposition  and  her  promises  of  every  possible  means  of 
support.  Anne  wrote  two  or  three  times  to  her  foster- 
mother,  and  then  nothing  more  was  heard  from  her  ; 
so  that  Mademoiselle  had  to  take  refuge  in  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  happy  life  they  were  leading  in  Brusson’s 
native  town  prevented  their  memories  dwelling  upon 
the  days  that  were  past  and  gone.  It  was  now  just 
twenty-three  years  since  Brusson  had  left  Paris  along 
with  his  wife  and  child  and  had  gone  to  Geneva. 

“ Oh  ! horrible  ! ” exclaimed  De  Scuderi  when  she 
had  again  recovered  herself  to  some  extent.  “ Oh  ! 
horrible  ! are  you  Olivier  ? my  Anne’s  son  ? And 

now ” “ Indeed,  honoured  lady,”  replied  Olivier 

calmly  and  composedly,  “ indeed  you  never  could,  I 


204 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDDRI. 


suppose,  have  any  the  least  idea  that  the  boy  whom 
you  fondled  with  all  a mother’s  tenderness,  into  whose 
mouth  you  never  tired  of  putting  sweets  and  candies 
as  you  tossed  him  on  your  lap,  whom  you  called  by 
the  most  caressing  names,  would,  when  grown  up  to 
be  a young  man,  one  day  stand  before  you  accused  of 
an  atrocious  crime.  I am  not  free  from  reproach  ; the 
Chambre  Ardente  may  justly  bring  a charge  against  me  ; 
but  by  my  hopes  of  happiness  after  death,  even  though 
it  be  by  the  executioner’s  hand,  I am  innocent  of  this 
bloody  deed  ; the  unhappy  Cardillac  did  not  perish 
through  me,  nor  through  any  guilty  connivance  on  my 
part.”  So  saying,  Olivier  began  to  shake  and  tremble. 
Mademoiselle  silently  pointed  to  a low  chair  which 
stood  beside  him,  and  he  slowly  sank  down  upon  it. 

“ I have  had  plenty  of  time  to  prepare  myself  for 
my  interview  with  you,”  he  began,  “which  I regard  as 
the  last  favour  to  be  granted  me  by  Heaven  in  token 
of  my  reconciliation  with  it,  and  I have  also  had  time 
enough  to  gain  what  calmness  and  composure  are 
needful  in  order  to  relate  to  you  the  history  of  my 
fearful  and  unparalleled  misfortunes.  I entreat  your 
pity,  that  you  will  listen  calmly  to  me,  however  much 
you  may  be  surprised — nay,  even  struck  with  horror,— 
by  the  disclosure  of  a secret  which  I am  sure  you  have 
never  for  a moment  suspected.  Oh!  that  my  poor 
father  had  never  left  Paris  ! As  far  back  as  my 
recollections  of  Geneva  go  I remember  how  I felt  the 
tears  of  my  unhappy  parents  falling  upon  my  cheeks, 
and  how  their  complaints  of  misery,  which  I did  not 
understand,  provoked  me  also  to  tears.  Later  I ex- 
perienced to  the  full  and  with  keen  consciousness  in 
what  a state  of  crushing  want  and  of  deep  distress  my 
parents  lived.  My  father  found  all  his  hopes  deceived. 
He  died  bowed  to  the  earth  with  pain,  and  broken  with 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI 


205 


trouble,  immediately  after  he  had  succeeded  in  placing 
me  as  apprentice  to  a goldsmith.  My  mother  talked 
much  about  you  ; she  said  she  would  pour  out  all  her 
troubles  to  you  ; but  then  she  fell  a victim  to  that 
despondency  which  is  born  of  misery.  That,  and  also 
a feeling  of  false  shame,  which  often  preys  upon  a 
deeply  wounded  spirit,  prevented  her  from  taking  any 
decisive  step.  Within  a few  months  after  my  father’s 
death  my  mother  followed  him  to  the  grave.”  “Poor 
Anne  ! poor  Anne  ! ” exclaimed  Mademoiselle,  quite 
overcome  by  sorrow.  “ All  praise  and  thanks  to  the 
Eternal  Power  of  Heaven  that  she  is  gone  to  the 
better  land  ; she  will  not  see  her  darling  son,  branded 
with  shame,  fall  by  the  hand  of  the  executioner,”  cried 
Olivier  aloud,  casting  his  eyes  upwards  with  a wild 
unnatural  look  of  anguish. 

The  police  grew  uneasy  outside  ; footsteps  passed  to 
an  fro.  “ Ho  ! ho  ! ” said  Olivier,  smiling  bitterly, 
“ Desgrais  is  waking  up  his  myrmidons,  as  though  I 
could  make  my  escape  here.  But  to  continue — I led 
a hard  life  with  my  master,  albeit  I soon  got  to  be  the 
best  workman,  and  at  last  even  surpassed  my  master 
himself.  One  day  a stranger  happened  to  come  into 
our  shop  to  buy  some  jewellery.  And  when  he  saw  a 
beautiful  necklace  which  I had  made  he  clapped  me 
on  the  shoulder  in  a friendly  way  and  said,  eyeing  the 
ornament,  ‘ Ha  ! i’  faith,  my  young  friend,  that’s  an 
excellent  piece  of  work.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I don’t 
know  who  there  is  who  could  beat  you,  unless  it  were 
Rene  Cardillac,  who,  you  know,  is  the  first  goldsmith 
in  the  world.  You  ought  to  go  to  him  ; he  would 
gladly  take  you  into  his  workshop  ; for  nobody  but 
you  could  help  him  in  his  artistic  labours  ; and  on  the 
other  hand  he  is  the  only  man  from  whom  you  could 
learn  anything.’  The  stranger’s  words  sank  into  my 


2o6 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SLUDER! 


heart  and  took  deep  root  there.  I hadn’t  another 
moment’s  ease  in  Geneva ; I felt  a violent  impulse  to 
be  gone.  At  last  I contrived  to  get  free  from  my 
master.  I came  to  Paris.  Rene  Cardillac  received 
me  coldly  and  churlishly.  I persevered  in  my  purpose  ; 
he  must  give  me  some  work,  however  insignificant  it 
might  be.  I got  a small  ring  to  finish.  On  my  taking 
the  work  to  him,  he  fixed  his  keen  glittering  eyes  upon 
me  as  if  he  would  read  the  very  depths  of  my  soul. 
Then  he  said,  ‘ You  are  a good  clever  journeyman  ; 
you  may  come  to  me  and  help  me  in  my  shop.  I will 
pay  you  well  ; you  shall  be  satisfied  with  me.’  Cardil- 
lac kept  his  word.  I had  been  several  weeks  with  him 
before  I saw  Madelon  ; she  was  at  that  time,  if  I mis- 
take not,  in  the  country,  staying  with  a female  relative 
of  Cardillac’s  ; but  at  length  she  came.  O Heaven  ! 

0 God ! what  did  I feel  when  I saw  the  sweet  angel  ? 
Has  any  man  ever  loved  as  I do  ? And  now — O 
Madelon  ! ” 

Olivier  was  so  distressed  he  could  not  go  on.  Hold- 
ing both  hands  before  his  face,  he  sobbed  violently, 
But  at  length,  fighting  down  with  an  effort  the  sharp 
pain  that  shook  him,  he  went  on  with  his  story. 

“Madelon  looked  upon  me  with  friendly  eyes.  Her 
visits  into  the  workshop  grew  more  and  more  frequent. 

1 was  enraptured  to  perceive  that  she  loved  me.  Not- 
withstanding the  strict  watch  her  father  kept  upon  us 
many  a stolen  pressure  of  the  hand  served  as  a token 
of  the  mutual  understanding  arrived  at  between  us  ; 
Cardillac  did  not  appear  to  notice  anything.  I intended 
first  to  win  his  favour,  and,  if  I could  gain  my  master- 
ship, then  to  woo  for  Madelon.  One  day,  as  I was 
about  to  begin  work,  Cardillac  came  to  me,  his  face 
louring  darkly  with  anger  and  scornful  contempt.  ‘ I 
don’t  want  your  services  any  longer,’  he  began,  ‘so  out 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD  ERL 


207 


you  go  from  my  house  this  very  hour  ; and  never  show 
yourself  in  my  sight  again.  Why  I can’t  do  with  you 
here  any  longer,  I have  no  need  to  tell  you.  For  you, 
you  poor  devil,  the  sweet  fruit  at  which  you  are  stretch- 
ing out  your  hand  hangs  too  high.’  I attempted  to 
speak,  but  he  laid  hold  upon  me  with  a powerful  grasp 
and  threw  me  out  of  doors,  so  that  I fell  to  the  floor 
and  severely  wounded  my  head  and  arm.  I left  the 
house  hotly  indignant  and  furious  with  the  stinging 
pain  ; at  last  I found  a good-natured  acquaintance  in 
the  remotest  corner  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Martin,  who 
received  me  into  his  garret.  But  I had  neither  ease 
nor  rest.  Every  night  I used  to  lurk  about  Cardillac’s 
house  deluding  myself  with  the  fancy  that  Madelon 
would  hear  my  sighing  and  lamenting,  and  that  she 
would  perhaps  find  a way  to  speak  to  me  out  of  the 
window  unheard.  All  sorts  of  confused  plans  were  re- 
volving in  my  brain,  which  I hoped  to  persuade  her  to 
carry  out. 

“ Now  joining  Cardillac’s  house  in  the  Rue  Nicaise 
there  is  a high  wall,  with  niches  and  old  stone  figures 
in  them,  now  half  crumbled  away.  One  night  I was 
standing  close  beside  one  of  these  stone  images  and 
looking  up  at  those  windows  of  the  house  which  looked 
out  upon  the  court  enclosed  by  the  wall.  All  at  once 
I observed  a light  in  Cardillac’s  workshop.  It  was 
midnight  ; Cardillac  never  used  to  be  awake  at  that 
hour ; he  was  always  in  the  habit  of  going  to  rest  on 
the  stroke  of  nine.  My  heart  beat  in  uncertain  trepi- 
dation ; I began  to  think  something  might  have  hap- 
pened which  would  perhaps  pave  the  way  for  me  to  go 
back  into  the  house  once  more.  But  soon  the  light 
vanished  again.  I squeezed  myself  into  the  niche  close 
to  the  stone  figure  ; but  I started  back  in  dismay  on 
feeling  a pressure  against  me,  as  if  the  image  had  be- 


2o8 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


come  instinct  with  life.  By  the  dusky  glimmer  of  the 
night  I perceived  that  the  stone  was  slowly  revolving, 
and  a dark  form  slipped  out  from  behind  it  and  went 
away  down  the  street  with  light,  soft  footsteps.  I 
rushed  towards  the  stone  figure  ; it  stood  as  before, 
close  to  the  wall.  Almost  without  thinking,  rather  as 
if  impelled  by  some  inward  prompter,  I stealthily  fol- 
lowed the  figure.  Just  beside  an  image  of  the  Virgin 
he  turned  round  ; the  light  of  the  street  lamp  standing 
exactly  in  front  of  the  image  fell  full  upon  his  face. 
It  was  Cardillac. 

“An  unaccountable  feeling  of  apprehension — an  un- 
earthly dread  fell  upon  me.  Like  one  subject  to  the 
power  of  magic,  I had  to  go  on — on — in  the  track  of 
the  spectre-like  somnambulist.  For  that  was  what  I 
took  my  master  to  be,  notwithstanding  that  it  was  not 
the  time  of  full  moon,  when  this  visitation  is  wont  to 
attack  the  sleeper.  Finally  Cardillac  disappeared  into 
the  deep  shade  on  the  side  of  the  street.  By  a sort  of 
low  involuntary  cough,  which,  however,  I knew  well,  I 
gathered  that  he  was  standing  in  the  entry  to  a house. 
‘ What  is  the  meaning  of  that  ? What  is  he  going  to 
do  ? ’ I asked  myself,  utterly  astounded,  pressing  close 
against  a house-wall.  It  was  not  long  before  a man 
came  along  with  fluttering  plumes  and  jingling  spur, 
singing  and  gaily  humming  an  air.  Like  a tiger  leap- 
ing upon  his  prey,  Cardillac  burst  out  of  his  lurking- 
place  and  threw  himself  upon  the  man,  who  that  very 
same  instant  fell  to  the  ground,  gasping  in  the  agonies 
of  death.  I rushed  up  with  a cry  of  horror  ; Cardillac 
was  stooping  over  the  man,  who  lay  on  the  floor. 
‘ Master  Cardillac,  what  are  you  doing  ? ’ I shouted. 
‘ Cursed  fool  ! ’ growled  Cardillac,  running  past  me 
with  lightning-like  speed  and  disappearing  from  sight. 

“ Quite  upset  and  hardly  able  to  take  a step,  I 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


209 


approached  the  man  who  had  been  ‘stabbed.  I knelt 
down  beside  him.  ‘Perhaps,’  thought  I,  ‘he  still  may 
be  saved  but  there  was  not  the  least  sign  of  life.  In 
my  fearful  agitation  I had  hardly  noticed  that  the 
Marechausee  had  surrounded  me.  ‘What?’  already 
another  assassinated  by  these  demons  ! Hi!  hi!  Young 
man,  what  are  you  about  here  ? — Are  you  one  of  the 
band  ? — Away  with  him  ! ’ Thus  they  cried  one  after 
another,  and  they  laid  hold  of  me.  I was  scarcely  able 
to  stammer  out  that  I should  never  be  capable  of  such 
an  abominable  deed,  and  that  they  might  therefore  let 
me  go  my  way  in  peace.  Then  one  of  them  turned  his 
lamp  upon  my  face  and  said  laughing,  ‘Why,  it’s  Olivier 
Brusson,  the  journeyman  goldsmith,  who  works  for  our 
worthy  honest  Master  Rene  Cardiliac.  Ay,  I should 
think  so  ! — he  murder  people  in  the  street — he  looks 
like  it  indeed  ! It’s  just  like  murderous  assassins  to 
stop  lamenting  over  their  victim’s  corpse  till  some- 
body comes  and  takes  them  into  custody.  Well,  how 
was  it,  youngster?  Speak  out  boldly?’  ‘A  man  sprang 
out  immediately  in  front  of  me,’  I said,  ‘and  threw 
himself  upon  this  man  and  stabbed  him,  and  then  ran 
away  as  quick  as  lightning  when  I shouted  out.  I only 
wanted  to  see  if  the  stabbed  man  might  still  be  saved.’ 
‘ No,  my  son,’  cried  one  of  those  who  had  taken  up  the 
corpse  ; ‘ he’s  dead  enough  ; the  dagger  has  gone  right 
through  the  heart  as  usual.’  ‘The  Devil !’  said  another  ; 
‘we  have  come  too  late  again,  as  we  did  yesterday.’ 
Thereupon  they  went  their  way,  taking  the  corpse 
with  them. 

“What  my  feelings  were  I cannot  attempt  to  de- 
scribe. I felt  myself  to  make  sure  whether  I were  not 
being  mocked  by  some  hideous  dream  ; I fancied  I 
must  soon  wake  up  and  wonder  at  the  preposterous 
delusion.  Cardiliac,  the  father  of  my  Madelon,  an 
Vol.  II. — 14 


210 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERL 


atrocious  murderer  ! My  strength  failed  me  ; I sank 
down  upon  the  stone  steps  leading  up  to  a house.  The 
morning  light  began  to  glimmer  and  was  stronger  and 
stronger  ; an  officer’s  hat  decorated  with  feathers  lay 
before  me  on  the  pavement.  I saw  again  vividly  Car- 
dillac’s  bloody  deed,  which  had  been  perpetrated  on 
the  spot  where  I sat.  I ran  off  horrified. 

“ I was  sitting  in  my  garret,  my  thoughts  in  a 
perfect  whirl,  nay,  I was  almost  bereft  of  my  senses, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  Rene  Cardillac  came  in. 
‘ For  God’s  sake,  what  do  you  want  ?’  I exclaimed  on 
seeing  him.  Without  heeding  my  words,  he  ap- 
proached close  to  me,  smiling  with  calmness  and  an  air 
of  affability  which  only  increased  my  inward  abhor- 
rence. Pulling  up  a rickety  old  stool  and  taking  his 
seat  upon  it  close  beside  me,  for  I was  unable  to  rise 
from  the  heap  of  straw  upon  which  I had  thrown 
myself,  he  began,  ‘Well,  Olivier,  how  are  you  getting 
on,  my  poor  fellow  ? I did  indeed  do  an  abominably 
rash  thing  when  I turned  you  out  of  the  house  ; I miss 
you  at  every  step  and  turn.  I have  got  a piece  of 
work  on  hand  just  now  which  I cannot  finish  without 
your  help.  How  would  it  be  if  you  came  back  to 
work  in  my  shop  ? Have  you  nothing  to  say  ? Yes, 
I know  I have  insulted  you.  I will  not  attempt  to 
conceal  it  from  you  that  I was  angry  on  account  of 
your  love  making  to  my  Madelon.  But  since  then  I 
have  ripely  reflected  upon  the  matter,  and  decided 
that,  considering  your  skill  and  industry  and  faithful 
honesty,  I could  not  wish  for  any  better  son-in-law 
than  you.  So  come  along  with  me,  and  see  if  you 
can  win  Madelon  to  be  your  bride.’ 

“ Cardillac’s  words  cut  me  to  the  very  heart  ; I 
trembled  with  dread  at  his  wickedness  ; I could  not 
utter  a word.  ‘ Do  you  hesitate  ? ’ he  continued  in 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


21 1 


a sharp  tone,  piercing  me  through  and  through  with 
his  glittering  eyes  ; ‘ do  you  hesitate  ? Perhaps  you 
can't  come  along  with  me  just  to-day — perhaps  you 
have  some  other  business  on  hand  ! Perhaps  you 
mean  forsooth  to  pay  a visit  to  Desgrais  or  get  your- 
self admitted  to  an  interview  with  D’Argenson  or  La 
Regnie.  But  you’d  better  take  care,  boy,  that  the 
claws  which  you  entice  out  of  their  sheaths  to  other 
people’s  destruction  don’t  seize  upon  you  yourself 
and  tear  you  to  pieces  ! ’ Then  my  swelling  indig- 
nation suddenly  found  vent.  ‘ Let  those  who  are 
conscious  of  having  committed  atrocious  crimes,’  I 
cried, — ‘ let  them  start  at  the  names  you  just  named. 
As  for  me,  I have  no  reason  to  do  so — I have  nothing 
to  do  with  them.’  ‘Properly  speaking,’  went  on 
Cardillac,  ‘ properly  speaking,  Olivier,  it  is  an  honour 
to  you  to  work  with  me — with  me,  the  most  re- 
nowned master  of  the  age,  and  highly  esteemed  every- 
where for  his  faithfulness  and  honesty,  so  that  all 
wicked  calumnies  would  recoil  upon  the  head  of  the 
backbiter.  And  as  far  as  concerns  Madeion,  I must 
now  confess  that  it  is  she  alone  to  whom  you  owe 
this  compliance  on  my  part.  She  loves  you  with  an 
intensity  which  I should  not  have  credited  the  delicate 
child  with.  Directly  you  had  gone  she  threw  herself 
at  my  feet,  clasped  my  knees,  and  confessed  amid  end- 
less tears  that  she  could  not  live  without  you.  I 
thought  she  only  fancied  so,  as  so  often  happens  with 
young  and  love-sick  girls  ; they  think  they  shall  die 
at  once  the  first  time  a milky-faced  boy  looks  kindly 
upon  them.  But  my  Madelon  did  really  become  ill 
and  begin  to  pine  away  ; and  when  I tried  to  talk  her 
out  of  her  foolish  silly  notions,  she  only  uttered  your 
name  scores  of  times.  What  on  earth  could  I do  if 
I didn’t  want  her  to  die  away  in  despair  ? Last 


212 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD£RI. 


evening  I told  her  I would  give  my  consent  to  her 
dearest  wishes,  and  would  come  and  fetch  you  to-day. 
And  during  the  night  she  has  blossomed  up  like  a rose, 
and  is  now  waiting  for  you  with  all  the  longing  im- 
patience of  love.’ 

“ May  God  in  heaven  forgive  me  ! I don’t  know  my- 
self how  it  came  about,  but  I suddenly  found  myself  in 
Cardillac's  house  ; and  Madelon  cried  aloud  with  joy, 
‘ Olivier  ! my  Olivier  ! my  darling  ! my  husband  ! ’ as 
she  rushed  towards  me  and  threw  both  her  arms  round 
my  neck,  pressing  me  close  to  her  bosom,  till  in  a per- 
fect delirium  of  passionate  delight  I swore  by  the  Vir- 
gin and  all  the  saints  that  I would  never,  never  leave 
her.” 

Olivier  was  so  deeply  agitated  by  the  recollection  of 
this  fateful  moment,  that  he  was  obliged  to  pause.  De 
Scuderi,  struck  with  horror  at  this  foul  iniquity  in  a 
man  whom  she  had  always  looked  upon  as  a model  of 
virtue  and  honest  integrity,  cried,  “ Oh  ! it  is  horrible  ! 
So  Rene  Cardillac  belongs  to  the  murderous  band 
which  has  so  long  made  our  good  city  a mere  bandits’ 
haunt?”  “What  do  you  say,  Mademoiselle,  to  the 
band?"  said  Olivier.  “There  has  never  been  such  a 
band.  It  was  Cardillac  alone  who,  active  in  wickedness, 
sought  for  his  victims  and  found  them  throughout  the 
entire  city.  And  it  was  because  he  acted  alone  that  he 
was  enabled  to  carry  on  his  operations  with  so  much 
security,  and  from  the  same  cause  arose  the  insuperable 
difficulty  of  getting  a clue  to  the  murderer.  But  let  me 
go  on  with  my  story  ; the  sequel  will  explain  to  you  the 
secrets  of  the  most  atrocious  but  at  the  same  time  of 
the  most  unfortunate  of  men. 

“ The  situation  in  which  I now  found  myself  fixed  at 
my  master’s  may  be  easily  imagined.  The  step  was 
taken  ; I could  not  go  back.  At  times  I felt  as  though 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


213 


I were  Cardillac’s  accomplice  in  crime  ; the  only  thing 
that  made  me  forget  the  inner  anguish  that  tortured  me 
was  Madelon’s  love,  and  it  was  only  in  her  presence 
that  I succeeded  in  totally  suppressing  all  external 
signs  of  the  nameless  trouble  and  anxiety  I had  in  my 
heart.  When  I was  working  with  the  old  man  in  the 
shop,  I could  never  look  him  in  the  face  ; and  I was 
hardly  able  to  speak  a word,  owing  to  the  awful  dread 
with  which  I trembled  whenever  near  the  villain,  who 
fulfilled  all  the  duties  of  a faithful  and  tender  father, 
and  of  a good  citizen,  whilst  the  night  veiled  his  mon- 
strous iniquity.  Madelon,  dutiful,  pure,  confiding  as 
an  angel,  clung  to  him  with  idolatrous  affection.  The 
thought  often  struck  like  a dagger  to  my  heart  that,  if 
justice  should  one  day  overtake  the  reprobate  and  un- 
mask him,  she,  deceived  by  the  diabolical  arts  of  the 
foul  Fiend,  would  assuredly  die  in  the  wildest  agonies 
of  despair.  This  alone  would  keep  my  lips  locked,  even 
though  it  brought  upon  me  a criminal’s  death.  Not- 
withstanding that  I picked  up  a good  deal  of  informa- 
tion from  the  talk  of  the  Marechaussee,  yet  the  motive 
for  Cardillac’s  atrocities,  as  well  as  his  manner  of 
accomplishing  them,  still  remained  riddles  to  me  ; but 
I had  not  long  to  wait  for  the  solution. 

“ One  day  Cardillac  was  very  grave  and  preoccupied 
over  his  work,  instead  of  being  in  the  merriest  of 
humours,  jesting  and  laughing  as  he  usually  did,  and 
so  provoking  my  abhorrence  of  him.  All  of  a sudden 
he  threw  aside  the  ornament  he  was  working  at,  so 
that  the  pearls  and  other  stones  rolled  across  the  floor, 
and  starting  to  his  feet  he  exclaimed,  ‘ Olivier,  things 
can’t  go  on  in  this  way  between  us  ; the  footing  we 
are  now  on  is  getting  unbearable.  Chance  has  played 
into  your  hands  the  knowledge  of  a secret  which  has 
baffled  the  most  inventive  cunning  of  Desgrais  and  all 


214 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SLUDER! 


his  myrmidons.  You  have  seen  me  at  my  midnight 
work,  to  which  I am  goaded  by  my  evil  destinv  ; no 
resistance  is  ever  of  any  avail.  And  your  evil  destiny 
it  was  which  led  you  to  follow  me,  which  wrapped  you 
in  an  impenetrable  veil  and  gave  you  the  lightness  of 
foot  which  enabled  you  to  walk  as  noiselessly  as  the 
smallest  insect,  so  that  I,  who  in  the  blackest  night 
see  as  plainly  as  a tiger  and  hear  the  slightest  noise, 
the  humming  of  midges,  far  away  along  the  streets, 
did  not  perceive  you  near  me.  Your  evil  star  has 
brought  you  to  me,  my  associate.  As  you  are  now 
circumstanced  there  can  be  no  thought  of  treachery 
on  your  part,  and  so  you  may  now  know  all.’  ‘Never, 
never  will  I be  your  associate,  you  hypocritical  rep- 
robate,’ I endeavoured  to  cry  out,  but  I felt  a choking 
sensation  in  my  throat,  caused  by  the  dread  which 
came  upon  me  as  Cardillac  spoke.  Instead  of  speak- 
ing words,  I only  gasped  out  certain  unintelligible 
sounds.  Cardillac  again  sat  down  on  his  bench,  dry- 
ing the  perspiration  from  his  brow.  He  appeared  to 
be  fearfully  agitated  by  his  recollections  of  the  past 
and  to  have  difficulty  in  preserving  his  composure. 
But  at  length  he  began. 

“‘Learned  men  say  a good  deal  about  the  extra- 
ordinary impressions  of  which  women  are  capable 
when  enceinte,  and  of  the  singular  influence  which 
such  a vivid  involuntary  external  impression  has  upon 
the  unborn  child.  I was  told  a surprising  story  about 
my  mother.  About  eight  months  before  I was  born, 
my  mother  accompanied  certain  other  women  to  see  a 
splendid  court  spectacle  in  the  Trianon.1  There  her 
eyes  fell  upon  a cavalier  wearing  a Spanish  costume, 


1 The  well-known  pleasure  castle  erected  by  Louis  XIV.  at  Ver- 
sailles for  De  Maintenon. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD£RI. 


215 

who  wore  a flashing  jewelled  chain  round  his  neck, 
and  she  could  not  keep  her  eyes  off  it.  Her  whole 
being  was  concentrated  into  desire  to  possess  the  glit- 
tering stones,  which  she  regarded  as  something  of 
supernatural  origin.  Several  years  previously,  before 
my  mother  was  married,  the  same  cavalier  had  paid 
his  insidious  addresses  to  her,  but  had  been  repulsed 
with  indignant  scorn.  My  mother  knew  him  again  ; 
but  now  by  the  gleam  of  the  brilliant  diamonds  he 
appeared  to  her  to  be  a being  of  a higher  race — the 
paragon  of  beauty.  He  noticed  my  mother’s  looks  of 
ardent  desire.  He  believed  he  should  now  be  more 
successful  than  formerly.  He  found  means  to  ap- 
proach her,  and,  yet  more,  to  draw  her  away  from 
her  acquaintances  to  a retired  place.  Then  he  clasped 
her  passionately  in  his  arms,  whilst  she  laid  hold  of 
the  handsome  chain  ; but  in  that  moment  the  cavalier 
reeled  backwards,  dragging  my  mother  to  the  ground 
along  with  him.  Whatever  was  the  cause — whether 
he  had  a sudden  stroke,  or  whether  it  was  due  to 
something  else — enough,  the  man  was  dead.  All  my 
mother’s  efforts  to  release  herself  from  the  stiffened 
arms  of  the  corpse  proved  futile.  His  glazed  eyes, 
their  faculty  of  vision  now  extinguished,  were  fixed 
upon  her  ; and  she  lay  on  the  ground  with  the  dead 
man.  At  length  her  piercing  screams  for  help  reached 
the  ears  of  some  people  passing  at  a distance  ; they 
hurried  up  and  freed  her  from  the  arms  of  her  ghastly 
lover.  The  horror  prostrated  her  in  a serious  illness. 
Her  life,  and  mine  too,  was  despaired  of  ; but  she  re- 
covered, and  her  accouchement  was  more  favourable 
than  could  have  been  expected.  But  the  terror  of 
that  fearful  moment  had  left  its  stamp  upon  me.  The 
evil  star  of  my  destiny  had  got  in  the  ascendant  and 
shot  down  its  sparks  upon  me,  enkindling  in  me  a 


210 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD£RL 


most  singular  but  at  the  same  time  a most  pernicious 
passion.  Even  in  the  earliest  days  of  my  childhood 
there  was  nothing  I thought  so  much  of  as  I did  of 
flashing  diamonds  and  ornaments  of  gold.  It  was  re- 
garded as  an  ordinary  childish  inclination.  But  the 
contrary  was  soon  made  manifest,  for  when  a boy  I 
stole  all  the  gold  and  jewellery  I could  anywhere  lay 
my  hands  on.  Like  the  most  experienced  goldsmith 
I could  distinguish  by  instinct  false  jeweller)'  from  real. 
The  latter  alone  proved  an  attraction  to  me  ; objects 
made  of  imitated  gold  as  well  as  gold  coins  I heeded 
not  in  the  least.  My  inborn  propensity  had,  however, 
to  give  way  to  the  excessively  cruel  thrashings  which 
I received  at  my  father’s  hand. 

“ ‘ I adopted  the  trade  of  a goldsmith,  merely  that  I 
might  be  able  to  handle  gold  and  precious  stones.  I 
worked  with  passionate  enthusiasm  and  soon  became 
the  first  master  in  the  craft.  But  now  began  a period 
in  which  my  innate  propensity,  so  long  repressed,  burst 
forth  with  vehemence  and  grew  most  rapidly,  imbibing 
nourishment  from  everything  about  it.  • So  soon  as  I 
had  completed  a piece  of  jeweller)',  and  had  delivered 
it  up  to  the  customer,  I fell  into  a state  of  unrest,  of 
desperate  disquiet,  which  robbed  me  of  sleep  and  health 
and  courage  for  my  daily  life.  Day  and  night  the  per- 
son for  whom  I had  done  the  work  stood  before  my 
eyes  like  a spectre,  adorned  with  my  jewellery,  whilst  a 
voice  whispered  in  my  ears,  “Yes,  it’s  yours  ; yes  it’s 
yours.  Go  and  take  it.  What  does  a dead  man  want 
diamonds  for  ? ” Then  I began  to  practise  thievish 
arts.  As  I had  access  to  the  houses  of  the  great,  I 
speedily  turned  every  opportunity  to  good  account : no 
lock  could  baffle  my  skill  ; and  I soon  had  the  object 
which  I had  made  in  my  hands  again.  But  after  a time 
even  that  did  not  banish  my  unrest.  That  unearthly 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDAkI. 


217 


voice  still  continued  to  make  itself  heard  in  my  ears, 
mocking  me  to  scorn,  and  crying,  “ Ho  ! ho  ! a dead 
man  is  wearing  your  jewellery.”  By  some  inexplicable 
means,  which  I do  not  understand,  I began  to  conceive 
an  unspeakable  hatred  of  those  for  whom  I made  my 
ornaments.  Ay,  deep  down  in  my  heart  there  began 
to  stir  a murderous  feeling  against  them,  at  which  I 
myself  trembled  with  apprehension. 

“ ‘About  this  time  I bought  this  house.  I had  just 
struck  a bargain  with  the  owner  ; we  were  sitting  in 
this  room  drinking  a glass  of  wine  together  and  enjoy- 
ing ourselves  over  the  settlement  of  our  business. 
Night  had  come  ; I rose  to  go  ; then  the  vendor  of  the 
house  said,  “ See  here,  Master  Rene  ; before  you  go,  I 
must  make  you  acquainted  with  the  secret  of  the  place.” 
Therewith  he  unlocked  that  press  let  into  the  wall 
there,  pushed  away  the  panels  at  the  back,  and  stepped 
into  a little  room,  where,  stooping  down,  he  lifted  up  a 
trap-door.  We  descended  a flight  of  steep,  narrow 
stairs,  and  came  to  a narrow  postern,  which  he  unlocked, 
and  let  us  out  into  the  court-yard.  Then  the  old  gen- 
tleman, the  previous  owner  of  the  house,  stepped  up  to 
the  wall  and  pressed  an  iron  knob,  which  projected  only 
very  triflingly  from  it;  immediately  a portion  of  the 
wall  swung  round,  so  that  a man  could  easily  slip 
through  the  opening,  and  in  that  way  gain  the  street. 
I will  show  you  the  neat  contrivance  some  day,  Olivier  ; 
very  likely  it  was  constructed  by  the  cunning  monks  of 
the  monastery  which  formerly  stood  on  this  site,  in 
order  that  they  might  steal  in  and  out  secretly.  It  is  a 
piece  of  wood,  plastered  with  mortar  and  white-washed 
on  the  outside  only,  and  within  it,  on  the  side  next  the 
street,  is  fixed  a statue,  also  of  wood,  but  coloured  to 
look  exactly  like  stone,  and  the  whole  piece,  together 
with  the  statue,  moves  upon  concealed  hinges.  Dark 


218 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


thoughts  swept  into  my  mind  when  I saw  this  contriv- 
ance ; it  appeared  to  have  been  built  with  a predestined 
view  to  such  deeds  as  yet  remained  unknown  to  myself. 

“ ‘ I had  just  completed  a valuable  ornament  for  a 
courtier,  and  knew  that  he  intended  it  for  an  opera- 
dancer.  The  ominous  torture  assailed  me  again  ; the 
spectre  dogged  my  footsteps ; the  whispering  fiend  was 
at  my  ear.  I took  possession  of  my  new  house.  I 
tossed  sleeplessly  on  my  couch,  bathed  in  perspiration, 
caused  by  the  hideous  torments  I was  enduring.  In 
imagination  I saw  the  man  gliding  along  to  the  dancer’s 
abode  with  my  ornament.  I leapt  up  full  of  fury ; 
threw  on  my  mantle,  went  down  by  the  secret  stairs, 
through  the  wall,  and  into  the  Rue  Nicaise.  He  is 
coming  along  ; I throw  myself  upon  him  ; he  screams 
out ; but  I have  seized  him  fast  from  behind,  and  driven 
my  dagger  right  into  his  heart  ; the  ornament  is  mine. 
This  done  I experienced  a calmness,  a satisfaction  in 
my  soul,  which  I had  never  yet  experienced.  The 
spectre  had  vanished  ; the  voice  of  the  fiend  was  still. 
Now  I knew  what  my  evil  Destiny  wanted  ; I had 
either  to  yield  to  it  or  to  perish.  And  now  too  you 
understand  the  secret  of  all  my  conduct,  Olivier.  But 
do  not  believe,  because  I must  do  that  for  which  there 
is  no  help,  that  therefore  I have  entirely  lost  all  sense 
of  pity,  of  compassion,  which  is  said  to  be  one  of  the 
essential  properties  of  human  nature.  You  know  how 
hard  it  is  for  me  to  part  with  a finished  piece  of  work, 
and  that  there  are  many  for  whom  I refuse  to  work  at 
all,  because  I do  not  wish  their  death  ; and  it  has  also 
happened  that  when  I felt  my  spectre  would  have  to 
be  exorcised  on  the  following  day  by  blood,  I have 
satisfied  it  with  a stout  blow  of  the  fist  the  same  day, 
which  stretched  on  the  ground  the  owner  of  my  jewel, 
and  delivered  the  jewel  itself  into  my  hand.’ 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDARL 


219 


“ Having  told  me  all  this  Cardillac  took  me  into  his 
secret  vault  and  granted  me  a sight  of  his  jewel-cabinet ; 
and  the  king  himself  has  not  one  finer.  A short  label 
was  attached  to  each  article,  stating  accurately  for 
whom  it  was  made,  when  it  was  recovered,  and  whether 
by  theft,  or  by  robbery  from  the  person  accompanied 
with  violence,  or  by  murder.  Then  Cardillac  said  in 
a hollow  and  solemn  voice,  ‘ On  your  wedding-day, 
Olivier,  you  will  have  to  lay  your  hand  on  the  image 
of  the  crucified  Christ  and  swear  a solemn  oath  that 
after  I am  dead  you  will  reduce  all  these  riches  to  dust, 
through  means  which  I shall  then,  before  I die,  disclose 
to  you.  I will  not  have  any  human  creature,  and  cer- 
tainly neither  Madelon  nor  you,  come  into  possession 
of  this  blood-bought  treasure-store.’  Entangled  in  this 
labyrinth  of  crime,  and  with  my  heart  lacerated  by  love 
and  abhorrence,  by  rapture  and  horror,  I might  be 
compared  to  the  condemned  mortal  whom  a lovely 
angel  is  beckoning  upwards  with  a gentle  smile,  whilst 
on  the  other  hand  Satan  is  holding  him  fast  in  his 
burning  talons,  till  the  good  angel’s  smiles  of  love,  in 
which  are  reflected  all  the  bliss  of  the  highest  heaven, 
become  converted  into  the  most  poignant  of  his  miseries. 
I thought  of  flight — ay,  even  of  suicide — but  Madelon  ! 
Blame  me,  reproach  me,  honoured  lady,  for  my  too 
great  weakness  in  not  fighting  down  by  an  effort  of 
will  a passion  that  was  fettering  me  to  crime  ; but  am 
I not  about  to  atone  for  my  fault  by  a death  of  shame  ? 

“One  day  Cardillac  came  home  in  uncommonly  good 
spirits.  He  caressed  Madelon,  greeted  me  with  the 
most  friendly  good-will,  and  at  dinner  drank  a bottle 
of  better  wine,  of  a brand  that  he  only  produced  on 
high  holidays  and  festivals,  and  he  also  sang  and  gave 
vent  to  his  feelings  in  exuberant  manifestations  of  joy. 
When  Madelon  had  left  us  I rose  to  return  to  the  work- 


220 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD £ RI. 


shop.  ‘Sit  still,  lad,’  said  Cardillac  ; ‘we’ll  not  work 
any  more  to-day.  Let  us  drink  another  glass  together 
to  the  health  of  the  most  estimable  and  most  excellent 
lady  in  Paris.’  After  I had  joined  glasses  with  him  and 
had  drained  mine  to  the  bottom,  he  went  on,  ‘ Tell  me, 
Olivier,  how  do  you  like  these  verses,’ 

‘ Un  amant  qui  craint  les  voleurs 
N’est  point  digne  d’ amour.’ 

“ Then  he  went  on  to  relate  the  episode  between  you 
and  the  king  in  De  Maintenon’s  salons,  adding  that  he 
' had  always  honoured  you  as  he  never  had  any  other 
human  creature,  and  that  you  were  gifted  with  such 
lofty  virtue  as  to  make  his  ill-omened  star  of  Destiny 
grow  pale,  and  that  if  you  were  to  wear  the  handsomest 
ornament  he  ever  made  it  would  never  provoke  in  him 
either  an  evil  spectre  or  murderous  thoughts.  ‘ Listen 
now,  Olivier,’  he  said,  ‘what  I have  made  up  my  mind 
to  do.  A long  time  ago  I received  an  order  for  a neck- 
lace and  a pair  of  bracelets  for  Henrietta  of  England,1 
and  the  stones  were  given  me  for  the  purpose.  The 
work  turned  out  better  than  the  best  I had  ever  pre- 
viously done  ; but  my  heart  was  torn  at  the  thought  of 
parting  from  the  ornaments,  for  they  had  become  my 
pet  jewels.  You  are  aware  of  the  Princess’s  unhappy 
death  by  sinister  means.  The  ornaments  I retained, 
and  will  now  send  them  to  Mademoiselle  de  Scuderi 
in  the  name  of  the  persecuted  band  of  robbers  as  a 
token  of  my  respect  and  gratitude.  Not  only  will 
Mademoiselle  receive  an  eloquent  token  of  her  triumph, 
but  I shall  also  laugh  Desgrais  and  his  associates  to 

1 Daughter  of  Charles  I.  and  Henrietta  Maria  of  France  ; she  died 
29th  June,  1670,  believing  herself  to  have  been  poisoned  ; and  this 
was  currently  accepted  in  France,  though  now  rejected  by  historians 
as  incorrect. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


221 


scorn,  as  they  deserve  to  be  laughed  at.  You  shall 
take  her  the  ornaments.’  As  Cardillac  mentioned  your 
name,  Mademoiselle,  I seemed  to  see  a dark  veil  thrown 
aside,  revealing  the  fair,  bright  picture  of  my  early 
happy  childhood  days  in  gay  and  cheerful  colours.  A 
wondrous  source  of  comfort  entered  my  soul,  a ray  of 
hope,  before  which  all  my  dark  spirits  faded  away. 
Possibly  Cardillac  noted  the  effect  which  his  words  had 
upon  me  and  interpreted  it  in  his  own  way,  ‘ You  ap- 
pear to  find  pleasure  in  my  plan,’  he  said.  ‘ And  I may 
as  well  state  to  you  that  I have  been  commanded  to  do 
this  by  an  inward  monitor  deep  down  in  my  heart,  very 
different  from  that  which  demands  its  holocaust  of 
blood  like  some  ravenous  beast  of  prey.  I often  ex- 
perience very  remarkable  feelings  ; I am  powerfully 
affected  by  an  inward  apprehension,  by  fear  of  some- 
thing terrible,  the  horrors  of  which  breathe  upon  me 
in  the  air  from  a far-distant  world  of  the  Supernatural. 
I then  feel  even  as  if  the  crimes  I commit  as  the  blind 
instrument  of  my  ill-starred  Destiny  may  be  charged 
upon  my  immortal  soul,  which  has  no  share  in  them. 
During  one  such  mood  I vowed  to  make  a diamond 
crown  for  the  Holy  Virgin  in  St  Eustace’s  Church. 
But  so  often  as  I thought  seriously  about  setting  to 
work  upon  it,  I was  overwhelmed  by  this  unaccount- 
able apprehension,  so  that  I gave  up  the  project  alto- 
gether. Now  I feel  as  if  I must  humbly  offer  an  ac- 
knowledgment at  • the  altar  of  virtue  and  piety  by 
sending  to  De  Scuderi  the  handsomest  ornaments  I 
have  ever  worked.’ 

“ Cardillac,  who  was  intimately  acquainted  with  your 
habits  and  ways  of  life,  Mademoiselle,  gave  me  instruc- 
tions respecting  the  manner  and  the  hour — the  how  and 
the  when — in  which  I was  to  deliver  the  ornaments, 
which  he  locked  in  an  elegant  case,  into  your  hands. 


222 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD£rL 


I was  completely  thrilled  with  delight,  for  Heaven 
itself  now  pointed  out  to  me  through  the  miscreant 
Cardillac,  a way  by  wrhich  I might  rescue  myself  from 
the  hellish  thraldom  in  which  I,  a sinner  and  outcast, 
was  slowly  perishing  ; these  at  least  were  my  thoughts. 
In  express  opposition  to  Cardillac’s  will  I resolved  to 
force  myself  in  to  an  interview  with  you.  I intended  to 
reveal  myself  as  Anne.  Brusson’s  son,  as  your  own 
adoptive  child,  and  to  throw  myself  at  your  feet  and 
confess  all—  all.  I knew  that  you  would  have  been  so 
touched  by  the  overwhelming  misery  which  would  have 
threatened  poor  innocent  Madelon  by  any  disclosure 
that  you  would  have  respected  the  secret  ; whilst  your 
keen,  sagacious  mind  would,  I felt  assured,  have  devised 
some  means  by  which  Cardillac’s  infamous  wickedness 
might  have  been  prevented  without  any  exposure. 
Pray  do  not  ask  me  what  shape  these  means  would 
have  taken  ; I do  not  know.  But  that  you  would  save 
Madelon  and  me,  of  that  I was  most  firmly  convinced, 
as  firmly  as  I believe  in  the  comfort  and  help  of  the 
Holy  Virgin.  You  know  how  my  intention  was  frus- 
trated that  night,  Mademoiselle.  I still  cherished  the 
hope  of  being  more  successful  another  time.  Soon 
after  this  Cardillac  seemed  suddenly  to  lose  all  his 
good-humour.  He  went  about  with  a cloudy  brow, 
fixed  his  eyes  on  vacancy  in  front  of  him,  murmured 
unintelligible  words,  and  gesticulated  with  his  hands, 
as  if  warding  off  something  hostile  from  him  ; his  mind 
appeared  to  be  tormented  by  evil  thoughts.  Thus  he 
behaved  during  the  course  of  one  whole  morning. 
Finally  he  sat  down  to  his  work-table  ; but  he  soon 
leapt  up  again  peevishly  and  looked  out  of  the  window, 
saying  moodily  and  earnestly,  ‘ I wish  after  all  that 
Henrietta  of  England  had  worn  my  ornaments.’  These 
words  struck  terror  to  my  heart.  Now  I knew  that  his 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD&RL 


223 


warped  mind  was  again  enslaved  by  the  abominable 
spectre  of  murder,  and  that  the  voice  of  the  fiend  was 
again  ringing  audibly  in  his  ears.  I saw  your  life  was 
threatened  by  the  villainous  demon  of  murder.  If  Car- 
dillac  only  had  his  ornaments  in  his  hands  again,  you 
were  saved. 

“Every  moment  the  danger  increased.  Then  I met 
you  on  the  Pont  Neuf,  and  forced  my  way  to  your  car- 
riage, and  threw  you  that  note,  beseeching  you  to  re- 
store the  ornaments  which  you  had  received  to  Cardil- 
lac’s  hands  at  once.  You  did  not  come.  My  distress 
deepened  to  despair  when  on  the  following  day  Cardil- 
lac  talked  about  nothing  else  but  the  magnificent  orna- 
ments which  he  had  seen  before  his  eyes  during  the 
night.  I could  only  interpret  that  as  having  reference 
to  your  jewellery,  and  I was  certain  that  he  was  brood- 
ing over  some  fresh  murderous  onslaught  which  he  had 
assuredly  determined  to  put  into  execution  during  the 
coming  night.  I must  save  you,  even  if  it  cost  Cardil- 
lac’s  own  life.  So  soon  as  he  had  locked  himself  in 
his  own  room  after  evening  prayers,  according  to  his 
wont,  I climbed  out  of  a window  into  the  court-yard, 
slipped  through  the  opening  in  the  wall,  and  took  up 
my  station  at  no  great  distance,  hidden  in  the  deep 
shade.  I had  not  long  to  wait  before  Cardillac  appeared 
and  stole  softly  up  the  street,  me  following  him.  He 
bent  his  steps  towards  the  Rue  St.  Honoree  ; my  heart 
trembled  with  apprehension.  All  of  a sudden  I lost 
sight  of  him.  I made  up  my  mind  to  take  post  at  your 
house-door.  Then  there  came  an  officer  past  me,  with- 
out perceiving  me,  singing  and  gaily  humming  a tune 
to  himself,  as  on  the  occasion  when  chance  first  made 
me  a witness  of  Cardillac’s  bloody  deeds.  But  that 
selfsame  moment  a dark  figure  leapt  forward  and  fell 
upon  the  officer.  It  was  Cardillac.  This  murder  I 


224  MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD  £ RI. 

would  at  any  rate  prevent.  With  a loud  shout  I reached 
the  spot  in  two  or  three  bounds,  when,  not  the  officer, 
but  Cardillac,  fell  on  the  floor  groaning.  The  officer 
let  his  dagger  fall,  and  drawing  his  sword  put  himself 
in  a posture  for  fighting,  imagining  that  I was  the  mur- 
derer’s accomplice  ; but  when  he  saw  that  I was  only 
concerned  about  the  slain  man,  and  did  not  trouble 
myself  about  him,  he  hurried  away.  Cardillac  was 
still  alive.  After  picking  up  and  taking  charge  of  the 
dagger  which  the  officer  had  let  fall,  I loaded  my  mas- 
ter upon  my  shoulders  and  painfully  hugged  him  home, 
carrying  him  up  to  the  workshop  by  way  of  the  con- 
cealed stairs.  The  rest  you  know. 

“You  see,  honoured  lady,  that  my  only  crime  con- 
sists in  the  fact  that  I did  not  betray  Madelon’s  father 
to  the  officers  of  the  law,  and  so  put  an  end  to  his 
enormities.  My  hands  are  clean  of  any  deed  of  blood. 
No  torture  shall  extort  from  me  a confession  of  Car- 
dillac’s  crimes.  I will  not,  in  defiance  of  the  Eternal 
Power,  which  veiled  the  father’s  hideous  bloodguiltiness 
from  the  eyes  of  the  virtuous  daughter,  be  instrumental 
in  unfolding  all  the  misery  of  the  past,  which  would 
now  have  a far  more  disastrous  effect  upon  her,  nor  do 
I wish  to  aid  worldly  vengeance  in  rooting  up  the  dead 
man  from  the  earth  which  covers  him,  nor  that  the  ex- 
ecutioner should  now  brand  the  mouldering  bones  with 
dishonour.  No  ; the  beloved  of  my  soul  will  weep  for 
me  as  one  who  has  fallen  innocent,  and  time  will  soften 
her  sorrow  ; but  how  irretrievable  a shock  would  it  be 
if  she  learnt  of  the  fearful  and  diabolical  deeds  of  her 
dearly-loved  father.” 

Olivier  paused  ; but  now  a torrent  of  tears  suddenly 
burst  from  his  eyes,  and  he  threw  himself  at  De  Scu- 
deri’s  feet  imploringly.  “ Oh  ! now  you  are  con- 
vinced of  my  innocence — oh  ! surely  you  must  be  ! 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDDRI. 


225 


have  pity  upon  me  ; tell  me  how  my  Madelon  bears 
it.”  Mademoiselle  summoned  La  Martiniere,  and  in 
a few  moments  more  Madelon’s  arms  were  round 
Olivier’s  neck.  “ Now  all  is  well  again  since  you  are 
here.  I knew  it,  I knew  this  most  noble-minded  lady 
would  save  you,”  cried  Madelon  again  and  again  ; and 
Olivier  forgot  his  situation  and  all  that  was  impending 
over  him,  he  was  free  and  happy.  It  was  most  touch- 
ing to  hear  the  two  mutually  pour  out  all  their  troubles, 
and  relate  all  that  they  had  suffered  for  one  another’s 
sake  ; then  they  embraced  one  another  anew,  and  wept 
with  joy  to  see  each  other  again. 

If  De  Scuderi  had  not  been  already  convinced  of 
Olivier’s  innocence  she  would  assuredly  have  been 
satisfied  of  it  now  as  she  sat  watching  the  two,  who 
forgot  the  world  and  their  misery  and  their  excessive 
sufferings  in  the  happiness  of  their  deep  and  genuine 
mutual  affection.  “No,”  she  said  to  herself,  “it  is 
only  a pure  heart  which  is  capable  of  such  happy 
oblivion.” 

The  bright  beams  of  morning  broke  in  through  the 
window.  Desgrais  knocked  softly  at  the  room  door, 
and  reminded  those  within  that  it  was  time  to  take 
Olivier  Brusson  away,  since  this  could  not  be  done 
later  without  exciting  a commotion.  The  lovers  were 
obliged  to  separate. 

The  dim  shapeless  feelings  which  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  De  Scuderi’s  mind  on  Olivier’s  first  entry  into 
the  room,  had  now  acquired  form  and  content — and 
in  a fearful  way.  She  saw  the  son  of  her  dear  Anne 
innocently  entangled  in  such  a way  that  there  hardly 
seemed  any  conceivable  means  of  saving  him  from  a 
shameful  death.  She  honoured  the  young  man’s  heroic 
purpose  in  choosing  to  die  under  an  unjust  burden  of 
guilt  rather  than  divulge  a secret  that  would  certainly 
Vol.  II. — 15 


22Ö 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCVD&RI. 


kill  his  Madeion.  In  the  whole  region  of  possibility 
she  could  not  find  any  means  whatever  to  snatch  the 
poor  fellow  out  of  the  hands  of  the  cruel  tribunal. 
And  yet  she  had  a most  clear  conception  that  she 
ought  not  to  hesitate  at  any  sacrifice  to  avert  this 
monstrous  perversion  of  justice  which  was  on  the 
point  of  being  committed.  She  racked  her  brain  with 
a hundred  different  schemes  and  plans,  some  of  which 
bordered  upon  the  extravagant,  but  all  these  she  re- 
jected almost  as  soon  as  they  suggested  themselves. 
Meanwhile  the  rays  of  hope  grew  fainter  and  fainter, 
till  at  last  she  was  on  the  verge  of  despair.  But  Ma- 
delon’s  unquestioning  child-like  confidence,  the  rap- 
turous enthusiasm  with  which  she  spoke  of  her  lover, 
who  now,  absolved  of  all  guilt,  would  soon  clasp  her 
in  his  arms  as  his  bride,  infused  De  Scuderi  with  new 
hope  and  courage,  exactly  in  proportion  as  she  was  the 
more  touched  by  the  girl’s  words. 

At  length,  for  the  sake  of  doing  something,  De 
Scuderi  wrote  a long  letter  to  La  Regnie,  in  which 
she  informed  him  that  Olivier  Brusson  had  proved  to 
her  in  the  most  convincing  manner  his  perfect  inno- 
cence of  Cardillac’s  death,  and  that  it  was  only  his 
heroic  resolve  to  carry  with  him  into  the  grave  a secret, 
the  revelation  of  which  would  entail  disaster  upon 
virtue  and  innocence,  that  prevented  him  making  a 
revelation  to  the  court  wdiich  wrould  undoubtedly  free 
him,  not  only  from  the  fearful  suspicion  of  having 
murdered  Cardillac,  but  also  of  having  belonged  to  a 
band  of  vile  assassins.  De  Scuderi  did  all  that  burning 
zeal,  that  ripe  and  spirited  eloquence  could  effect,  to 
soften  La  Regnie's  hard  heart.  In  the  course  of  a few 
hours  La  Regnie  replied  that  he  was  heartily  glad  to 
learn  that  Olivier  Brusson  had  justified  himself  so  com- 
pletely in  the  eyes  of  his  noble  and  honoured  protec- 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


227 


tress.  As  for  Olivier’s  heroic  resolve  to  carry  with 
him  into  the  grave  a secret  that  had  an  important 
bearing  upon  the  crime  under  investigation,  he  was 
sorry  to  say  that  the  Chambre  Ardente  could  not  respect 
such  heroic  courage,  but  would  rather  be  compelled 
to  adopt  the  strongest  means  to  break  it.  At  the  end 
of  three  days  he  hoped  to  be  in  possession  of  this  ex- 
traordinary secret,  which  it  might  be  presumed  would 
bring  wonders  to  light. 

De  Scuderi  knew  only  too  well  what  those  means 
were  by  which  the  savage  La  Regnie  intended  to  break 
Brusson’s  heroic  constancy.  She  was  now  sure  that 
the  unfortunate  was  threatened  with  the  rack.  In  her 
desperate  anxiety  it  at  length  occurred  to  her  that  the 
advice  of  a doctor  of  the  law  would  be  useful,  if  only 
to  effectuate  a postponement  of  the  torture.  The  most 
renowned  advocate  in  Paris  at  that  time  was  Pierre 
Arnaud  d’Andilly  ; and  his  sound  knowledge  and  lib- 
eral mind  were  only  to  be  compared  to  his  virtue  and 
his  sterling  honesty.  To  him,  therefore,  De  Scuderi 
had  recourse,  and  she  told  him  all,  so  far  as  she  could, 
without  violating  Brusson’s  secret.  She  expected  that 
D’Andilly  would  take  up  the  cause  of  the  innocent 
man  with  zeal,  but  she  found  her  hopes  most  bitterly 
deceived.  The  lawyer  listened  calmly  to  all  she  had 
to  say,  and  then  replied  in  Boileau’s  words,  smiling  as  he 
did  so,  “ Le  vrai pent  quelque  fois  n etre pas  vraisemblable  ” 
(Sometimes  truth  wears  an  improbable  garb).  He 
showed  De  Scuderi  that  there  were  most  noteworthy 
grounds  for  suspicion  against  Brusson,  that  La  Reg- 
nie’s  proceedings  could  neither  be  called  cruel  nor  yet 
hurried,  rather  they  were  perfectly  within  the  law — 
nay,  that  he  could  not  act  otherwise  without  detriment 
to  his  duties  as  judge.  He  himself  did  not  see  his  way 
to  saving  Brusson  from  torture,  even  by  the  cleverest 


228 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD£RI. 


defence.  Nobody  but  Brusson  himself  could  avert  it, 
either  by  a candid  confession  or  at  least  by  a most 
detailed  account  of  all  the  circumstances  attending 
Cardillac’s  murder,  and  this  might  then  perhaps  fur- 
nish grounds  for  instituting  fresh  inquiries.  “ Then  I 
will  throw  myself  at  the  king’s  feet  and  pray  for  mercy,’ 
said  De  Scuderi,  distracted,  her  voice  half  choked  by 
tears.  “For  Heaven’s  sake,  don’t  do  it,  Mademoiselle, 
don’t  do  it.  I would  advise  you  to  reserve  this  last 
resource,  for  if  it  once  fail  it  is  lost  to  you  for  ever. 
The  king  will  never  pardon  a criminal  of  this  class ; he 
would  draw  down  upon  himself  the  bitterest  reproaches 
of  the  people,  who  would  believe  their  lives  were 
always  in  danger.  Possibly  Brusson,  either  by  disclos- 
ing his  secret  or  by  some  other  means,  may  find  a way 
to  allay  the  suspicions  which  are  working  against  him. 
Then  will  be  the  time  to  appeal  to  the  king  for  mercy, 
for  he  will  not  inquire  what  has  been  proved  before 
the  court,  but  be  guided  by  his  own  inner  conviction.’’ 
De  Scuderi  had  no  help  for  it  but  to  admit  that 
D’Andilly  with  his  great  experience  was  in  the  right. 

Late  one  evening  she  was  sitting  in  her  own  room 
in  very  great  trouble,  appealing  to  the  Virgin  and  the 
Holy  Saints,  and  thinking  whatever  should  she  do  to 
save  the  unhappy  Brusson,  when  La  Martiniere  came 
in  to  announce  that  Count  de  Miossens,  colonel  of 
the  King’s  Guards,  was  urgently  desiring  to  speak  to 
Mademoiselle. 

“ Pardon  me,  Mademoiselle,”  said  Miossens,  bowing 
with  military  grace,  “ pardon  me  for  intruding  upon 
you  so  late,  at  such  an  inconvenient  hour.  We  soldiers 
cannot  do  as  we  like,  and  then  a couple  of  words  will 
suffice  to  excuse  me.  It  is  on  Olivier  Brusson’s  account 
that  I have  come.”  De  Scuderi’s  attention  was  at  once 
on  the  stretch  as  to  what  was  to  follow,  and  she  said, 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDDRL 


229 


“ Olivier  Brusson  ? — that  most  unhappy  of  mortals  ? 
What  have  you  to  do  with  him  ?”  “Yes,  I did  indeed 
think,”  continued  Miossens  smiling,  “that  your  protege's 
name  would  be  sufficient  to  procure  me  a favourable 
hearing.  All  the  public  are  convinced  of  Brusson’s 
guilt.  But  you,  I know,  cling  to  another  opinion, 
which  is  based,  to  be  sure,  upon  the  protestations  of 
the  accused,  as  it  is  said  ; with  me,  however,  it  is  other- 
wise. Nobody  can  be  more  firmly  convinced  that 
Brusson  is  innocent  of  Cardillac’s  death  than  I am.” 
“ Oh  ! go  on  and  tell  me  ; go  on,  pray  ! ” exclaimed  De 
Scuderi,  whilst  her  eyes  sparkled  with  delight.  Mios- 
sens continued,  speaking  with  emphasis,  “ It  was  I — I 
who  stabbed  the  old  goldsmith  not  far  from  your  house 
here  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore.”  “ By  the  Saints  ! — you 
— you  ?”  exclaimed  Mademoiselle.  “And  I swear  to 
you,  Mademoiselle,”  went  on  Miossens,  “ that  I am 
proud  of  the  deed.  For  let  me  tell  you  that  Cardillac 
was  the  most  abandoned  and  hypocritical  of  villains, 
that  it  was  he  who  committed  those  dreadful  murders 
and  robberies  by  night,  and  so  long  escaped  all  traps 
laid  for  him.  Somehow,  I can’t  say  how,  a strong  feel- 
ing of  suspicion  was  aroused  in  my  mind  against  the 
old  reprobate  when  he  brought  me  an  ornament  I had 
ordered  and  was  so  visibly  disturbed  on  giving  it  to  me  ; 
and  then  he  inquired  particularly  for  whom  I wanted 
the  ornament,  and  also  questioned  my  valet  in  the  most 
artful  way  as  to  when  I was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  a 
certain  lady.  I had  long  before  noticed  that  all  the 
unfortunates  who  fell  victims  to  this  abominable  epi- 
demic of  murder  and  robbery  bore  one  and  the  same 
wound.  I felt  sure  that  the  assassin  had  by  practice 
grown  perfect  in  inflicting  it,  and  that  it  must  prove 
instantaneously  fatal,  and  upon  this  he  relied  implicitly. 
If  it  failed,  then  it  would  come  to  a fight  on  equal 


230 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDLLRI. 


terms.  This  led  me  to  adopt  a measure  of  precaution 
which  is  so  simple  that  I cannot  comprehend  why  it 
did  not  occur  to  others,  who  might  then  have  safe- 
guarded themselves  against  any  murderous  assault  that 
threatened  them.  I wore  a light  shirt  of  mail  under 
my  tunic.  Cardillac  attacked  me  from  behind.  He 
laid  hold  upon  me  with  the  strength  of  a giant,  but  the 
surely-aimed  blow  glanced  aside  from  the  iron.  That 
same  moment  I wrested  myself  free  from  his  grasp,  and 
drove  my  dagger,  which  I held  in  readiness,  into  his 
heart.”  “And  you  maintained  silence?”  asked  De 
Scuderi ; “you  did  not  notify  to  the  tribunals  what  you 
had  done  ? ” “ Permit  me  to  remark,”  went  on  Mios- 

sens,  “ permit  me  to  remark,  Mademoiselle,  that  such 
an  announcement,  if  it  had  not  at  once  entailed  disas- 
trous results  upon  me,  would  at  any  rate  have  involved 
me  in  a most  detestable  trial.  Would  La  Regnie,  who 
ferrets  out  crime  everywhere — would  he  have  believed 
my  unsupported  word  if  I had  accused  honest  Cardillac, 
the  pattern  of  piety  and  virtue,  of  an  attempted  mur- 
der ? What  if  the  sword  of  justice  had  turned  its  point 
against  me?”  “ That  would  not  have  been  possible,” 

said  De  Scuderi,  “ your  birth — your  rank  ” “ Oh  ! 

remember  Marshal  de  Luxembourg,  whose  whim  for 
having  his  horoscope  cast  by  Le  Sage  brought  him 
under  the  suspicion  of  being  a poisoner,  and  eventually 
into  the  Bastille.  No  ! by  St.  Denis!  I would  not  risk 
my  freedom  for  an  hour — not  even  the  lappet  of  my  ear 
— in  the  power  of  that  madman  La  Regnie,  who  only 
too  well  would  like  to  have  his  knife  at  the  throats  of 
all  of  us.”  “ But  do  you  know  you  are  bringing  inno- 
cent Brusson  to  the  scaffold  ? ” “ Innocent  ? ” rejoined 

Miossens,  “ innocent  ? Are  you  speaking  of  the  villain 
Cardillac’s  accomplice,  Mademoiselle  ? he  who  helped 
him  in  his  evil  deeds  ? who  deserves  to  die  a hundred 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD £. RI. 


231 


deaths  ? No,  indeed  ! He  would  meet  a just  end  on 
the  scaffold.  I have  only  disclosed  to  you,  honoured 
lady,  the  details  of  the  occurrence  on  the  presupposi- 
tion that,  without  delivering  me  into  the  hands  of  the 
Chambre  Ar  deute,  you  will  yet  find  a way  to  turn  my 
secret  to  account  on  behalf  of  your  protege." 

De  Scuderi  was  so  enraptured  at  finding  her  convic- 
tion of  Brusson’s  innocence  confirmed  in  such  a decisive 
manner  that  she  did  not  scruple  to  tell  the  Count  all, 
since  he  already  knew  of  Cardillac’s  iniquity,  and  to 
exhort  him  to  accompany  her  to  see  D’Andilly.  To 
him  all  should  be  revealed  under  the  seal  of  secrecy, 
and  he  should  advise  them  what  was  to  be  done. 

After  De  Scuderi  had  related  all  to  D’Andilly  down 
to  the  minutest  particulars,  he  inquired  once  more 
about  several  of  the  most  insignificant  features.  In 
particular  he  asked  Count  Miossens  whether  he  was 
perfectly  satisfied  that  it  was  Cardillac  who  had  attacked 
him,  and  whether  he  would  be  able  to  identify  Olivier 
Brusson  as  the  man  who  had  carried  away  the  corpse. 
De  Miossens  made  answer,  “Not  only  did  I very  well 
recognise  Cardillac  by  the  bright  light  of  the  moon, 
but  I have  also  seen  in  La  Regnie’s  hands  the  dagger 
with  which  Cardillac  was  stabbed  ; it  is  mine,  distin- 
guished by  the  elegant  workmanship  of  the  hilt.  As  I 
only  stood  one  yard  from  the  young  man,  and  his  hat 
had  fallen  off,  I distinctly  saw  his  features,  and  should 
certainly  recognise  him  again.” 

After  gazing  thoughtfully  before  him  for  some  min- 
utes in  silence,  D’Andilly  said,  “Brusson  cannot  pos- 
sibly be  saved  from  the  hands  of  justice  in  any  ordinary 
and  regular  way.  Out  of  consideration  for  Madelon  he 
refuses  to  accuse  Cardillac  of  being  the  thievish  assas- 
sin. And  he  must  continue  to  do  so,  for  even  if  he 
succeeded  in  proving  his  statements  by  pointing  out 


232 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDERI. 


the  secret  exit  and  the  accumulated  store  of  stolen 
jewellery,  he  would  still  be  liable  to  death  as  a partner 
in  Cardillac’s  guilt.  And  the  bearings  of  things  would 
not  be  altered  if  Count  Miossens  were  to  state  to  the 
judges  the  real  details  of  the  meeting  with  Cardillac. 
The  only  thing  we  can  aim  at  securing  is  a postpone- 
ment of  the  torture.  Let  Count  Miossens  go  to  the 
Conciergerie,  have  Olivier  Brusson  brought  forward,  and 
recognise  in  him  the  man  who  carried  away  Cardillac’s 
dead  body.  Then  let  him  hurry  off  to  La  Regnie  and 
say,  ‘ I saw  a man  stabbed  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  and 
as  I stood  close  beside  the  corpse  another  man  sprang 
forward  and  stooped' down  over  the  dead  body  ; but  on 
finding  signs  of  life  in  him  he  lifted  him  on  his  shoul- 
ders and  carried  him  away.  This  man  I recognise  in 
Olivier  Brusson.’  This  evidence  would  lead  to  another 
hearing  of  Brusson  and  to  his  confrontation  with  Mios- 
sens. At  all  events  the  torture  would  be  delayed  and 
further  inquiries  would  be  instituted.  Then  will  come 
the  proper  time  to  appeal  to  the  king.  It  may  be  left 
to  your  sagacity,  Mademoiselle,  to  do  this  in  the 
adroitest  manner.  As  far  as  my  opinion  goes,  I think 
it  would  be  best  to  disclose  to  him  the  whole  mystery. 
Brusson’s  confessions  are  borne  out  by  this  statement 
of  Count  Miossens  ; and  they  may,  perhaps,  be  still 
further  substantiated  by  secret  investigations  at  Car- 
dillac’s own  house.  All  this  could  not  afford  grounds 
for  a verdict  of  acquittal  by  the  court,  but  it  might 
appeal  to  the  king’s  feelings,  that  it  is  his  prerogative 
to  speak  mercy  where  the  judge  can  only  condemn, 
and  so  elicit  a favourable  decision  from  His  Majesty.” 
Count  Miossens  followed  implicitly  D’Andilly’s  advice  ; 
and  the  result  was  what  the  latter  had  foreseen. 

But  now  the  thing  was  to  get  at  the  king  ; and  this 
was  the  most  difficult  part  of  all  to  accomplish,  since 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD  & RI. 


233 


he  believed  that  Brusson  alone  was  the  formidable 
assassin  who  for  so  long  a time  had  held  all  Paris  en- 
thralled by  fear  and  anxiety,  and  accordingly  he  had 
conceived  such  an  a.bhorrence  of  him  that  he  burst  into 
a violent  fit  of  passion  at  the  slightest  allusion  to  the 
notorious  trial.  De  Maintenon,  faithful  to  her  principle 
of  never  speaking  to  the  king  on  any  subject  that  was 
disagreeable,  refused  to  take  any  steps  in  the  affair  ; 
and  so  Brusson’s  fate  rested  entirely  in  De  Scuderi’s 
hands.  After  long  deliberation  she  formed  a resolution 
which  she  carried  into  execution  as  promptly  as  she 
had  conceived  it.  Putting  on  a robe  of  heavy  black 
silk,  and  hanging  Cardillac’s  valuable  necklace  round 
her  neck,  and  clasping  the  bracelets  on  her  arms,  and 
throwing  a black  veil  over  her  head,  she  presented  her- 
self in  De  Maintenon’s  salons  at  a time  when  she  knew 
the  king  would  be  present  there.  This  stately  robe 
invested  the  venerable  lady’s  noble  figure  with  such 
majesty  as  could  not  fail  to  inspire  respect,  even  in  the 
mob  of  idle  loungers  who  were  wont  to  collect  in  ante- 
rooms, laughing  and  jesting  in  frivolous  and  irreverent 
fashion.  They  all  shyly  made  way  for  her  ; and  when 
she  entered  the  salon  the  king  himself  in  his  astonish- 
ment rose  and  came  to  meet  her.  As  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  glitter  of  the  costly  diamonds  in  the  necklace  and 
bracelets,  he  cried,  “ ’Pon  my  soul,  that’s  Cardillac’s 
jewellery  ! ” Then,  turning  to  De  Maintenon,  he  added 
with  an  arch  smile,  “See,  Marchioness,  how  our  fair 
bride  mourns  for  her  bridegroom.”  “ Oh  ! your  Maj- 
esty,” broke  in  De  Scuderi,  taking  up  the  jest  and  car- 
rying it  on,  “would  it  indeed  beseem  a deeply  sorrowful 
bride  to  adorn  herself  in  this  splendid  fashion  ? No,  I 
have  quite  broken  off  with  that  goldsmith,  and  should 
never  think  about  him  more,  were  it  not  that  the  horrid 
recollection  of  him  being  carried  past  me  after  he  had 


234 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD£RL 


been  murdered  so  often  recurs  to  my  mind.”  “What 
do  you  say?”  asked  the  king.  “What!  you  saw  the 
poor  devil  ? ” De  Scuderi  now  related  in  a few  words 
how  .she  chanced  to  be  near  Cardillac’s  house  just  as 
the  murder  was  discovered — as  yet  she  did  not  allude 
to  Brusson’s  being  mixed  up  in  the  matter.  She 
sketched  Madelon’s  excessive  grief,  told  what  a deep 
impression  the  angelic  child  made  upon  her,  and  de- 
scribed in  what  way  she  had  rescued  the  poor  girl  out 
of  Desgrais’  hands,  amid  the  approving  shouts  of  the 
people.  Then  came  the  scenes  with  La  Regnie,  with 
Desgrais,  with  Brusson — the  interest  deepening  and 
intensifying  from  moment  to  moment.  The  king  was 
so  carried  away  by  the  extraordinary  graphic  power 
and  burning  eloquence  of  Mademoiselle’s  narration 
that  he  did  not  perceive  she  was  talking  about  the 
hateful  trial  of  the  abominable  wretch  Brusson  ; he 
was  quite  unable  to  utter  a word  ; all  he  could  do  was 
to  let  off  the  excess  of  his  emotion  by  an  exclamation 
from  time  to  time.  Ere  he  knew  where  he  was— he 
was  so  utterly  confused  by  this  unprecedented  tale 
which  he  had  heard  that  he  was  unable  to  order  his 
thoughts — De  Scuderi  was  prostrate  at  his  feet,  implor- 
ing pardon  for  Olivier  Brusson.  “What  are  you  doing  ?” 
burst  out  the  king,  taking  her  by  both  hands  and  forcing 
her  into  a chair.  “ What  do  you  mean,  Mademoiselle  ? 
This  is  a strange  way  to  surprise  me.  Oh  ! it’s  a ter- 
rible story.  Who  will  guarantee  me  that  Brusson’s  mar- 
vellous tale  is  true  ?”  Whereupon  De  Scuderi  replied, 
“ Miossens’  evidence — an  examination  of  Cardillac’s 
house — my  heart-felt  conviction — and  oh  ! Madelon’s 
virtuous  heart,  which  recognised  the  like  virtue  in  un- 
happy Brusson’s.”  Just  as  the  king  was  on  the  point 
of  making  some  reply  he  was  interrupted  by  a noise  at 
the  door,  and  turned  round.  Louvois,  who  during  this 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD£RI. 


-35 


time  was  working  in  the  adjoining  apartment,  looked 
in  with  an  expression  of  anxiety  stamped  upon  his 
features.  The  king  rose  and  left  the  room,  following 
Louvois. 

The  two  ladies,  both  De  Scuderi  and  De  Maintenon, 
regarded  this  interruption  as  dangerous,  for  having 
been  once  surprised  the  king  would  be  on  his  guard 
against  falling  a second  time  into  the  trap  set  for  him. 
Nevertheless  after  a lapse  of  some  minutes  the  king 
came  back  again  ; after  traversing  the  room  once  or 
twice  at  a quick  pace,  he  planted  himself  immediately 
in  front  of  De  Scuderi  and,  throwing  his  arms  behind 
his  back,  said  in  almost  an  undertone,  yet  without 
looking  at  her,  “ I should  very  much  like  to  see  your 
Madelon.”  Mademoiselle  replied,  “ Oh  ! my  precious 
liege  ! what  a great — great  happiness  your  condescen- 
sion will  confer  upon  the  poor  unhappy  child.  Oh  ! 
the  little  girl  only  waits  a sign  from  you  to  approach,  to 
throw  herself  at  your  feet.”  Then  she  tripped  towards 
the  door  as  quickly  as  she  was  able  in  her  heavy  cloth- 
ing, and  called  out  on  the  outside  of  it  that  the  king 
would  admit  Madelon  Cardillac  ; and  she  came  back 
into  the  room  wmeping  and  sobbing  with  overpowering 
delight  and  gladness. 

De  Scuderi  had  foreseen  that  some  such  favour  as 
this  might  be  granted  and  so  had  brought  Madelon 
along  with  her,  and  she  was  waiting  with  the  Mar- 
chioness’ lady-in-waiting  with  a short  petition  in  her 
hands  that  had  been  drawn  up  by  D’Andilly.  After 
a few  minutes  she  lay  prostrate  at  the  king’s  feet, 
unable  to  speak  a word.  The  throbbing  blood  was 
driven  quicker  and  faster  through  the  poor  girl’s  veins 
owing  to  anxiety,  nervous  confusion,  shy  reverence, 
love,  and  anguish.  Her  cheeks  were  died  with  a deep 
purple  blush  ; her  eyes  shone  with  bright  pearly  tears, 


236 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD&RI 


which  from  time  to  time  fell  through  her  silken  eye- 
lashes upon  her  beautiful  lily-white  bosom.  The  king 
appeared  to  be  struck  with  the  surprising  beauty  of  the 
angelic  creature.  He  softly  raised  her  up,  making  a 
motion  as  if  about  to  kiss  the  hand  which  he  had 
grasped.  But  he  let  it  go  again  and  regarded  the 
lovely  girl  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  thus  betraying  how 
great  was  the  emotion  stirring  within  him.  De  Main- 
tenon  softly  whispered  to  Mademoiselle,  “ Isn’t  she 
exactly  like  La  Valliere,1  the  little  thing  ? There’s 
hardly  a pin’s  difference  between  them.  The  king 
luxuriates  in  the  most  pleasing  memories.  Your  cause 
is  won.” 

Notwithstanding  the  low  tone  in  which  De  Main- 
tenon  spoke,  the  king  appeared  to  have  heard  what 
she  said.  A fleeting  blush  passed  across  his  face  ; his 
eye  wandered  past  De  Maintenon  ; he  read  the  peti- 
tion which  Madelon  had  presented  to  him,  and  then 
said  mildly  and  kindly,  “ I am  quite  ready  to  believe, 
my  dear  child,  that  you  are  convinced  of  your  lover’s 
innocence  ; but  let  us  hear  what  the  Chambre  Ardente 
has  got  to  say  to  it.”  With  a gentle  wave  of  the 
hand  he  dismissed  the  young  girl,  who  was  weeping  as 
if  her  heart  would  break. 

To  her  dismay  De  Scuderi  observed  that  the  recol- 
lection of  La  Valliere,  however  beneficial  it  had  ap- 
peared to  be  at  first,  had  occasioned  the  king  to  alter 
his  mind  as  soon  as  De  Maintenon  mentioned  her 
name.  Perhaps  the  king  felt  he  was  being  reminded 
in  a too  indelicate  way  of  how  he  was  about  to  sacrifice 
strict  justice  to  beauty,  or  perhaps  he  was  like  the 


1 Framboise  Louise,  Duchess  de  La  Valliere,  a former  mistress  of 
Louis  XIV.  On  being  supplanted  in  the  monarch’s  favour  by  Madame 
de  Montespan,  she  entered  the  order  of  Carmelite  nuns. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDfiRL 


237 


dreamer,  when,  on  somebody’s  shouting  to  him,  the 
lovely  dream-images  which  he  was  about  to  clasp, 
quickly  vanish  away.  Perhaps  he  no  longer  saw  his 
La  Valliere  before  his  eyes,  but  only  thought  of  Soeur 
Louise  de  la  Misericorde  (Louise  the  Sister  of  Mercy), 
— the  name  La  Valliere  had  assumed  on  joining  the 
Carmelite  nuns — who  worried  him  with  her  pious  airs 
and  repentance.  What  else  could  they  now  do  but 
calmly  wait  for  the  king’s  decision  ? 

Meanwhile  Count  Miossens’  deposition  before  the 
Chambre  Ardente  had  become  publicly  known  ; and  as 
it  frequently  happens  that  the  people  rush  so  readily 
from  one  extreme  to  another,  so  on  this  occasion  him 
whom  they  had  at  first  cursed  as  a most  abominable 
murderer  and  had  threatened  to  tear  to  pieces,  they 
now  pitied,  even  before  he  ascended  the  scaffold,  as 
the  innocent  victim  of  barbarous  justice.  Now  his 
neighbours  first  began  to  call  to  mind  his  exemplary 
walk  of  life,  his  great  love  for  Madelon,  and  the  faith- 
fulness and  touching  submissive  affection  which  he 
had  cherished  for  the  old  goldsmith.  Considerable 
bodies  of  the  populace  began  to  appear  in  a threatening 
manner  before  La  Regnie’s  palace  and  to  cry  out, 
“ Give  us  Olivier  Brusson  ; he  is  innocent  and  they 
even  stoned  the  windows,  so  that  La  Regnie  was 
obliged  to  seek  shelter  from  the  enraged  mob  with  the 
Marechaussee. 

Several  days  passed,  and  Mademoiselle  heard  not  the 
least  intelligence  about  Olivier  Brusson’s  trial.  She 
was  quite  inconsolable  and  went  off  to  Madame  de 
Maintenon  ; but  she  assured  her  that  the  king  main- 
tained a strict  silence  about  the  matter,  and  it  would 
not  be  advisable  to  remind  him  of  it.  Then  when  she 
went  on  to  ask  with  a smile  of  singular  import  how  little 
La  Valliere  was  doing,  De  Scuderi  was  convinced  that 


238 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUDÄKL 


deep  down  in  the  heart  of  the  proud  lady  there  lurked 
some  feeling  of  vexation  at  this  business,  which  might 
entice  the  susceptible  king  into  a region  whose  charm 
she  could  not  understand.  Mademoiselle  need  there- 
fore hope  for  nothing  from  De  Maintenon. 

At  last,  however,  with  D’Andilly’s  help,  De  Scuderi 
succeeded  in  finding  out  that  the  king  had  had  a long 
and  private  interview  with  Count  Miossens.  Further, 
she  learned  that  Bontems,  the  king's  most  confidential 
valet  and  general  agent,  had  been  to  the  Conciergerie 
and  had  an  interview  with  Brusson,  also  that  the  same 
Bontems  had  one  night  gone  with  several  men  to 
Cardillac’s  house,  and  there  spent  a considerable  time. 
Claude  Patru,  the  man  who  inhabited  the  lower  storey, 
maintained  that  they  were  knocking  about  overhead 
all  night  long,  and  he  was  sure  that  Olivier  had  been 
with  them,  for  he  distinctly  heard  his  voice.  This 
much  was,  therefore,  at  any  rate  certain,  that  the  king 
himself  was  having  the  true  history  of  the  circum- 
stances inquired  into  ; but  the  long  delay  before  he 
gave  his  decision  was  inexplicable.  La  Regnie  would 
no  doubt  do  all  he  possibly  could  to  keep  his  grip  upon 
the  victim  who  was  to  be  taken  out  of  his  clutches. 
And  this  annihilated  every  hope  as  soon  as  it  began  to 
bud. 

A month  had  nearly  passed  when  De  Maintenon  sent 
word  to  Mademoiselle  that  the  king  wished  to  see  her 
that  evening  in  her  salons. 

De  Scuderi’s  heart  beat  high  ; she  knew  that  Brus- 
son’s  case  would  now  be  decided.  She  told  poor 
Madelon  so,  who  prayed  fervently  to  the  Virgin  and 
the  saints  that  they  would  awaken  in  the  king’s  mind 
a conviction  of  Brusson’s  innocence. 

Yet  it  appeared  as  though  the  king  had  completely 
forgotten  the  matter,  for  in  his  usual  way  he  dallied 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD  it  RI. 


239 


in  graceful  conversation  with  the  two  ladies,  and  never 
once  made  any  allusion  to  poor  Brusson.  At  last 
Bontems  appeared,  and  approaching  the  king  whis- 
pered certain  words  in  his  ear,  but  in  so  low"  a tone 
that  neither  De  Maintenon  nor  De  Scuderi  could  make 
anything  out  of  them.  Mademoiselle’s  heart  quaked. 
Then  the  king  rose  to  his  feet  and  approached  her, 
saying  with  brimming  eyes,  “ I congratulate  you, 
Mademoiselle.  Your  protege , Olivier  Brusson,  is  free." 
The  tears  gushed  from  the  old  lady’s  eyes  ; unable  to 
speak  a word,  she  was  about  to  throw  herself  at  the 
king’s  feet.  But  he  prevented  her,  saying,  “ Go,  go, 
Mademoiselle.  You  ought  to  be  my  advocate  in 
Parliament  and  plead  my  causes,  for,  by  St.  Denis, 
there’s  nobody  on  earth  could  withstand  your  elo- 
quence ; and  yet,”  he  continued,  “ and  yet  when 
Virtue  herself  has  taken  a man  under  her  own  protec- 
tion, is  he  not  safe  from  all  base  accusations,  from  the 
Chambre  Ardente  and  all  other  tribunals  in  the  wTorld  ?” 
De  Scuderi  now  found  wrords  and  poured  them  out  in  a 
stream  of  glowing  thanks.  The  king  interrupted  her, 
by  informing  her  that  she  herself  would  find  await- 
ing her  in  her  own  house  still  warmer  thanks  than  he 
had  a right  to  claim  from  her,  for  probably  at  that  mo- 
ment the  happy  Olivier  was  clasping  his  Madelon  in 
his  arms.  “ Bontems  shall  pay  you  a thousand  Louis 
d or ,”  concluded  the  king.  “ Give  them  in  my  name 
to  the  little  girl  as  a dowry.  Let  her  marry  her  Brus- 
son, who  doesn’t  deserve  such  good  fortune,  and  then 
let  them  both  be  gone  out  of  Paris,  for  such  is  my  will.” 
La  Martiniere  came  running  forward  to  meet  her 
mistress,  and  Baptiste  behind  her ; the  faces  of  both 
were  radiant  with  joy  ; both  cried  delighted,  “ He  is 
here  ! he  is  free  ! O the  dear  young  people  ! ” The 
happy  couple  threw  themselves  at  Mademoiselle’s  feet. 


240 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCüDERL 


“ Oh  ! I knew  it  ! I knew  it ! ” cried  Madeion.  “ I 
knew  that  you,  that  nobody  but  you,  would  save 
my  darling  Olivier.”  “And  O my  mother,”  cried 
Olivier,  “my  belief  in  you  never  wavered.”  They 
both  kissed  the  honoured  lady’s  hands,  and  shed  in- 
numerable tears.  Then  they  embraced  each  other 
again  and  again,  affirming  that  the  exquisite  happiness 
of  that  moment  outweighed  all  the  unutterable  suffer- 
ings of  the  days  that  were  past ; and  they  vowed  never 
to  part  from  each  other  till  Death  himself  came  to 
part  them. 

A few  days  later  they  were  united  by  the  blessing  of 
the  priest.  Even  though  it  had  not  been  the  King’s 
wish,  Brusson  would  not  have  stayed  in  Paris,  where 
everything  would  have  reminded  him  of  the  fearful 
time  of  Cardillac’s  crimes,  and  where,  moreover,  some 
accident  might  reveal  in  pernicious  wise  his  dark  secret, 
now  become  known  to  several  persons,  and  so  his 
peace  of  mind  might  be  ruined  for  ever.  Almost  im- 
mediately after  the  wedding  he  set  out  with  his  young 
wife  for  Geneva,  Mademoiselle’s  blessings  accompany- 
ing them  on  the  way.  Richly  provided  with  means 
through  Madelon’s  dowry,  and  endowed  with  uncom- 
mon skill  at  his  trade,  as  well  as  with  every  virtue  of  a 
good  citizen,  he  led  there  a happy  life,  free  from  care. 
He  realised  the  hopes  which  had  deceived  his  father 
and  had  brought  him  at  last  to  his  grave. 

A year  after  Brusson’s  departure  there  appeared  a 
public  proclamation,  signed  by  Harloy  de  Chauvalon, 
Archbishop  of  Paris,  and  by  the  parliamentary  advo- 
cate, Pierre  Arnaud  d’Andilly,  which  ran  to  the  effect 
that  a penitent  sinner  had,  under  the  seal  of  confession, 
handed  over  to  the  Church  a large  and  valuable  store 
of  jewels  and  gold  ornaments  which  he  had  stolen. 
Everybody  who  up  to  the  end  of  the  year  1680  had  lost 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  SCUD&RI. 


241 


ornaments  by  theft,  particularly  by  a murderous  attack 
in  the  public  street,  was  to  apply  to  D’Andilly,  and 
then,  if  his  description  of  the  ornament  which  had  been 
stolen  from  him  tallied  exactly  with  any  of  the  pieces 
awaiting  identification,  and  if  further  there  existed  no 
doubt  as  to  the  legitimacy  of  his  claim,  he  should  re- 
ceive his  property  again.  Many  of  those  whose  names 
stood  on  Cardillac’s  list  as  having  been,  not  murdered, 
but  merely  stunned  by  a blow,  gradually  came  one  after 
the  other  to  the  parliamentary  advocate,  and  received, 
to  their  no  little  amazement,  their  stolen  property  back 
again.  The  rest  fell  to  the  coffers  of  the  Church  of  St. 
Eustace. 

Vol.  II.— 16 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


DYRMONT  had  a larger  concourse  of  visitors  than 
* ever  in  the  summer  of  18 — . The  number  of  rich 
and  illustrious  strangers  increased  from  day  to  day, 
greatly  exciting  the  zeal  of  speculators  of  all  kinds. 
Hence  it  was  also  that  the  owners  of  the  faro-bank  took 
care  to  pile  up  their  glittering  gold  in  bigger  heaps,  in 
order  that  this,  the  bait  of  the  noblest  game,  which  they, 
like  good  skilled  hunters,  knew  how  to  decoy,  might 
preserve  its  efficacy. 

Who  does  not  know  how  fascinating  an  excitement 
gambling  is,  particularly  at  watering-places,  during  the 
season,  where  every  visitor,  having  laid  aside  his  ordi- 
nary habits  and  course  of  life,  deliberately  gives  himself 
\ up  to  leisure  and  ease  and  exhilarating  enjoyment  ? 
I then  gambling  becomes  an  irresistible  attraction.  Peo- 
ple who  at  other  times  never  touch  a card  are  to  be  seen 
amongst  the  most  eager  players  ; and  besides,  it  is  the 
fashion,  especially  in  higher  circles,  for  every  one  to 
visit  the  bank  in  the  evening  and  lose  a little  money  at 
play. 

The  only  person  who  appeared  not  to  heed  this  irre- 
sistible attraction,  and  this  injunction  of  fashion,  was  a 
young  German  Baron,  whom  we  will  call  Siegfried. 
When  everybody  else  hurried  off  to  the  play-house,  and 
he  was  deprived  of  all  means  and  all  prospect  of  the  in- 
tellectual conversation  he  loved,  he  preferred  either  to 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


243 


give  reins  to  the  flights  of  his  fancy  ;,n  walks  or 

to  stay  in  his  own  room  and  takg  up  a. book,  or  even 
indulge  in  poetic  attempts,  in  writing,  himself. 

As  Siegfried  was  young,  independent,  rich,  of  noble 
appearance  and  pleasing  disposition,  it  could  not  fail 
but  that  he  was  highly  esteemed  jind  loved,  and  that  he 
had  the  most  decisive  “good-fortune  with  the  fair  sex. 
And  in  everything  that  lieTook  up  or  turned  his  atten- 
tion to,  there  seemed  to  be  a singularly  lucky  star  pre- 
siding over  his  actions.  Rumour  spoke  of  many  extra- 
ordinary love-intrigues  which  had  been  forced  upon 
him,  and  out  of  which,  however  ruinous  they  would  in 
all  likelihood  have  been  for  many  other  young  men,  he 
escaped  with  incredible  ease  and  success.  But  when- 
ever the  conversation  turned  upon  him  and  his  good 
fortune,  the.  old  gentlemen  of  his  acquaintance  were 
especially  fond  of  relating  a story  about  a watch,  which 
had  happened  in  the  days  of  his  early  youth.  For  it 
chanced  once  that  Siegfried,  while  still  under  his  guar- 
dian’s care,  had  quite  unexpectedly  found  himself  so 
straitened  for  money  on  a journey  that  he  was  ahso- 
lutely  obliged  to  sell  his  gold  watch,  which  was  set  with 
brilliants,  merely  in  order  to  get  on  his  way.  He  had  | 
made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  have  to  throw  away  | 
his  valuable  watch  for  an  old  song  ; but  as  there  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  hotel  where  he  had  put  up  at  a young 
prince  who  was  just  in  want  of  such  an  ornament,  the 
\ Baron  actually  received  for  it  more  than  it  was  really 
I worth.  More  than  a year  passed  and  Siegfried  had  be- 
come his  own  master,  when  he  read  in  the  newspapers  in 
another  place  that  a watch  was  to  be  made  the  subject  of 
a lottery.  He  took  a ticket,  which  cost  a mere  trifle,  and 
won — the  same  gold  watch  set  with  brilliants  which  he 
had  sold.  Not  long  afterwards  he  exchanged  this 
watch  for  a valuable  ring.  He  held  office  for  a short 


2 44 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


time  under  the  Prince  of  G— — , and  when  he  retired 
from  his  post  the  Prince  presented  to  him  as  a mark  of 
his  good-will  the  very  identical  gold  watch  set  with 
brilliants  as  before,  together  with  a costly  chain. 

From  this  story  they  passed  to  Siegfried’s  obstinacy 
in  never  on  any  account  touching  a card  ; why,  with  his 
strongly  pronounced  good-luck  he  had  all  the  more  in- 
ducement to  play  ; and  they  were  unanimous  in  coming 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  Baron,  notwithstanding  all 
his  other  conspicuous  good  qualities,  was  a miserly  fel- 
low, far  too  careful  and  far  too  stingy  to  expose  him- 
self to  the  smallest  possible  loss.  That  the  Baron’s 
conduct  was  in  every  particular  the  direct  contrary  of 
that  of  an  avaricious  man  had  no  weight  with  them  ; 
and  as  is  so  often  the  case,  when  the  majority  have  set 
their  hearts  upon  tagging  a questioning  ‘ but  ’ on  to  the 
good  name  of  a talented  man,  and  are  determined  to 
find  this  ‘ but  ’ at  any  cost,  even  though  it  should  be 
in  their  own  imagination,  so  in  the  present  case  the 
sneering  allusion  to  Siegfried’s  aversion  to  play  afforded 
them  infinite  satisfaction. 

Siegfried  was  not  long  in  learning  what  was  being 
said  about  him  ; and  since,  generous  and  liberal  as  he 
was,  there  was  nothing  he  hated  and  detested  more  than 
miserliness,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  put  his  traducers 
to  shame  by  ransoming  himself  from  this  foul  aspersion 
at  the  cost  of  a couple  of  hundred  Louis  Lor,  or  even 
more  if  need  be,  however  much  disgusted  he  might 
feel  at  gambling.  He  presented  himself  at  the  faro- 
bank  with  the  deliberate  intention  of  losing  the  large 
sum  which  he  had  put  in  his  pocket ; but  in  play  also 
the  good  luck  which  stood  by  him  in  everything  he  un- 
dertook did  not  prove  unfaithful.  -Every  card  he  chose 
won.  The  cabalistic  calculations  of  seasoned  old  play- 
ers were  shivered  to  atoms  against  the  Baron's  play. 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


245 


No  matter  whether  he  changed  his  cards  or  continued 
to  stake  on  1 the  same  one,  it  was  all  the  same  : he  was 
always  a winner.  In  the  Baron  they  had  the  singular 
spectacle  of  a punter  at  variance  with  himself  because 
the  cards  fell  favourable  for  him  ; and  notwithstanding 
that  the  explanation  of  his  behaviour  was  pretty  patent, 
yet  people  looked  at  each  other  significantly  and  gave 
utterance  in  no  ambiguous  terms  to  the  opinion  that 
the  Baron,  carried  along  by  his  penchant  for  the  mar- 
vellous, might  eventually  become  insane,  for  any  player 
who  could  be  dismayed  at  his  run  of  luck  must  surely 
be  insane. 

The  very  fact  of  having  won  a considerable  sum  of 
money  made  it  obligatory  upon  the  Baron  to  go  on 
playing  until  he  should  have  carried  out  his  original 
purpose  ; for  in.  all  probability  his  large  win  would  be 
followed  by  a still  larger  loss.  But  people's  expecta- 
tions were  not  in  the  remotest  degree  realised,  for  the 
Baron’s  striking  good-luck  continued  to  attend  him. 

Without  his  being  conscious  of  it,  there  began  to  be 


1 In  faro  the  keeper  of  the  bank  plays  against  all  the  rest  of  the 
players  (who  are  called  punters).  He  has  a full  pack  ; they  have  but 
a single  complete  suit.  The  punters  may  stake  what  they  please  upon 
any  card  they  please,  except  in  so  far  as  rules  may  have  been  made  to 
the  contrary  by  the  banker.  After  the  cards  have  been  cut,  the  banker 
proceeds  to  take  off  the  two  top  cards  one  after  the  other,  placing  the 
first  at  his  right  hand,  and  the  second  at  his  left,  each  with  the  face 
uppermost.  Any  punter  who  has  staked  a card  which  bears  exactly 
the  same  number  of  “peeps”  as  the  card  turned  up  on  the  banker’s 
right  hand  loses  the  stake  to  the  latter  ; but  if  it  bears  the  same  num- 
ber of  “peeps”  as  the  card  on  the  banker’s  left,  it  is  the  banker  who 
has  to  pay  the  punter  a sum  equal  to  the  value  of  his  stake.  The 
twenty-six  drawings  which  a full  pack  allows  the  banker  to  make  are 
called  a taille. 

This  general  sketch  will  help  to  make  the  text  intelligible  for  the 
most  part  without  going  into  minor  technicalities  of  the  game. 


246 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


awakened  in  his  mind  a strong  liking  for  faro,  which 
with  all  its  simplicity  is  the  most  ominous  of  games  ; 
and  this  liking  continued  to  increase  more  and  more. 
He  was  no  longer  dissatisfied  with  his  good-luck  ; gam- 
bling fettered  his  attention  and  held  him  fast  to  the 
table  for  nights  and  nights,  so  that  he  was  perforce  com- 
pelled to  give  credence  to  the  peculiar  attraction  of  the 
game,  of  which  his  friends  had  formerly  spoken  and 
which  he  would  by  no  means  allow  to  be  correct,  for  he 
was  attracted  to  faro  not  by  the  thirst  for  gain,  but  sim- 
ply and  solely  TayThe  game  itself. 

One  night,  just  as  the  banker  had  finished  a taille, 
the  Baron  happened  to  raise  his  eyes  and  observed  that 
an  elderly  man  had  taken  post  directly  opposite  to  him 
and  had  got  his  eyes  fixed  upon  him  in  a set,  sad,  earnest 
gaze.  And  as  long  as  play  lasted,  every  time  the  Baron 
looked  up,  his  eyes  met  the  stranger’s--daiB.sad_stare, 
until  at  last  he  could  not  help  being  struck  with  a very 
uncomfortable  and  oppressive  feeling.  And  the  stranger 
only  left  the  apartment  when  play  came  to  an  end  for 
the  night.  The  following  night  he  again  stood  opposite 
the  Baron,  staring  at  him  with  unaverted  gaze,  whilst 
his  eyes  had  a dark  mysterious  spectral  look.  The 
Baron  still  kept  his  temper.  But  when  on  the  third 
night  the  stranger  appeared  again  and  fixed  his  eyes, 
burning  with  a consuming  fire,  upon  the  Baron,  the 
latter  burst  out,  “ Sir,  I must  beg  you  to  choose  some 
other  place.  You  exercise  a constraining  influence 
upon  my  play.” 

With  a painful  smile  the  stranger  bowed  and J^ft  t.hfi 
table,  and  the  hall  too,  withduFuttering  a word. 

But  on  the  next  night  the  stranger  again  stoodcippo- 
site  the  Baron,  piercing  him  through  and  through  with 
his  dark  fiery  glance.  Then  the  Baron  burst  out  still 
more  angrily  than  on  the  preceding  night,  “ If  you 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


247 


think  it  a joke,  sir,  to  stare  at  me,  pray  choose  some 
other  time  and  some  other  place  to  do  so  ; and  now 

have  the  ” A wave  of  the  hand  towards  the  door 

took  the  place  of  the  harsh  words  the  Baron  was  about 
to  utter.  And  as  on  the  previous  night,  Jhe  stranger, 
after  bowing  slightly,  left  the  hall  with  the  same  paim 
ful  smile  upon  his  lips. 

Siegfried  was  so  excited  and  heated  by  play,  by  the 
wine  which  he  had  taken,  and  also  by  the  scene  with 
the  stranger,  that  he  could  not  sleep.  Morning  was 
already  breaking,  when  the  stranger’s  figure  appeared 
before  his  eyes.  He  observed  his  striking,  sharp-cut 
features,  worn  with  suffering,  and  his  sad  deep-set  eyes 
just  as  he  had  stared  at  him  ; and  he  noticed  his  distin- 
guished bearing,  which,  in  spite  of  his  mean  clothing, 
betrayed  a man  of  high  culture.  And  then  the  air  of 
painful  resignation  wdth  which  the  stranger  submitted 
to  the  harsh  words  flung  at  him,  and  fought  down  his 
bitter  feelings  with  an  effort,  and  left  the  hall  ! “ No,” 

cried  Siegfried,  “ I did  him  wrong — great  wrong.  Is 
it  indeed  at  all  like  me  to  blaze  up  in  this  rude,  ill- 
mannered  way,  like  an  uncultivated  clown,  and  to  offer 
insults  to  people  without  the  least  provocation  ? ” 
The  Baron  at  last  arrived  at  the  conviction  that  it  must 
have  been  a most  oppressive  feeling  of  the  sharp  con- 
trast between  them  which  had  made  the  man  stare  at 
him  so  ; in  the  moment  that  he  was  perhaps  contending 
with  the  bitterest  poverty,  he  (the  Baron)  was  piling 
up  heaps  and  heaps  of  gold  witlTall  the  supercilious- 
ness of  the  gambler.  He  resolved  to  find  out  the 
stranger  that  very  morning  and  atone  to  him  for  his 
rudeness. 

And  as  chance  would  have  it,  the  very  first  person 
whom  the  Baron  saw  strolling  down  the  avenue  was 
the  stranger  himself. 


248 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


The  Baron  addressed  him,  offered  the  most  profuse 
apolop  es  for  his  behaviour  of  the  night  before,  and  in 
conclusion  begged  the  stranger’s  pardon  in  all  due 
form.  The  stranger  replied  that  he  had  nothing  to 
pardon,  since  large  allowances  must  be  made  for  a 
player  deeply  intent  over  his  game,  and  besides,  he 
had  only  himself  to  blame  for  the  harsh  words  he  had 
provoked,  since  he  had  obstinately  persisted  in  remain- 
ing in  die  place  where  he  disturbed  the  Baron’s  play. 

Tha  Baron  went  further ; he  said  there  were  often 
seasons  of  momentary  embarrassment  in  life  which 
weighrd  with  a most  galling  effect  upon  a man  of  re- 
finement, and  he  plainly  hinted  to  the  stranger  that  he 
was  willing  to  give  the  money  he  had  won,  or  even 
more  still,  if  by  that  means  he  could  perhaps  be  of 
any  assistance  to  him. 

“ Sir,”  replied  the  stranger,  “you  think  I am  in  want, 
but  that  is  not  indeed  the  case  ; for  though  poor  rather 
than  rich,  I yet  have  enough  to  satisfy  my  simple 
wants.  Moreover,  you  will  yourself  perceive  that  as  a 
man  of  honour  I could  not  possibly  accept  a large  sum 
of  money  from  you  as  indemnification  for  the  insult 
you  conceive  you  have  offered  me,  even  though  I were 
not  a gentleman  of  birth.” 

“I  think  I understand  you,”  replied  the  Baron 
starting  ; “ I am  ready  to  grant  you  the  satisfaction 
you  demand.” 

“ Good  God  ! ” continued  the  stranger — “Good  God, 
how  unequal  a contest  it  wrould  be  between  us  two ! 
I am  certain  that  you  think  as  I do  about  a duel,  that 
it  is  not  to  be  treated  as  a piece  of  childish  folly ; nor 
do  you  believe  that  a few  drops  of  blood,  which  have 
perhaps  fallen  from  a scratched  finger,  can  ever  wash 
tarnished  honour  bright  again.  There  are  many  cases  in 
which  it  is  impossible  for  two  particular  individuals  to 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


249 


continue  to  exist  together  on  this  earth,  even  though 
the  one  live  in  the  Caucasus  and  the  other  on  the 
Tiber  ; no  separation  is  possible  so  long  as  the  hated 
foe  can  be  thought  of  as  still  alive.  In  this  case  a duel 
to  decide.  vvh.ich  of  the  two  is  to  give  way  to  the  other 
on  this  earth  is  a necessity.  Between  us  now,  as  I 
have  just  said,  a duel  would  be  fought  upon  unequal 
terms,  since  nohow  can  my  life  be  valued  so  highly  as 
yours.  If  I run  you  through,  I destroy  a whole  world 
of  the  finest  hopes  ; and  if  I fall,  then  you  have  put  an 
end  to  a miserable  existence,  that  is  harrowed  by  the 
bitterest  and  most  agonising  memories.  But  after  all 
-—and  this  is  of  course  the  main  thing — I don’t  conceive 
myself  to  have  been  in  the  remotest  degree  insulted. 
You  bade  me  go,  and  I went.” 

These  last  words  the  stranger  spoke  in  a tone  which 
nevertheless  betrayed  the  sting  in  his  heart.  This  was 
enough  for  the  Baron  to  again  apologise,  which  he  did 
by  especially  dwelling  upon  the  fact  that  the  stranger’s 
glance  had,  he  did  not  know  why,  gone  straight  to  his 
heart,  till  at  last  he  could  endure  it  no  longer. 

“ I hope  then,”  said  the  stranger,  “that  if  my  glance 
did  really  penetrate  to  your  heart,  it  aroused  you  to  a 
sense  of  the  threatening  danger  on  the  brink  of  which 
you  are  hovering.  With  a light  glad  heart  and  youth- 
ful ingenuousness  you  are  standing  on  the  edge  of  the 
abyss  of  ruin  ; one  single  push  and  you  will  plunge 
headlong  down  without  a hope  of  rescue.  In  a single 
word,  you  are  on  the  point  of  becoming  a confirmed 
and  passionate  gambler  and  ruining  yourself.” 

The  Baron  assured  him  that  he  was  completely  mis- 
taken. He  related  the  circumstances  under  which  he 
had  first  gone  to  the  faro-table,  and  assured  him  that 
he  entirely  lacked  the  gambler’s  characteristic  dispo- 
sition ; all  he  wished  was  to  lose  two  hundred  Louis  Lot 


250 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


or  so,  and  when  he  had  succeeded  in  this  he  intended 
to  cease  punting.  Up  to  that  time,  however,  he  had 
had  the  most  conspicuous  run  of^ood-hicii.. 

“Oh!  but,”  cried  the  stranger,  “oh!  but  it  is  exactly 
this  run  of  good-luck  wherein  lies  the  subtlest  and 
most  formidable  temptation  of  the  malignant  enemy. 
It  is  this  run  of  good-luck  which  attends  your  play, 
Baron, — the  circumstances  under  which  you  have 
begun  to  play, — nay,  your  entire  behaviour  whilst 
actually  engaged  in  play,  which  only  too  plainly  betray 
how  your  interest  in  it  deepens  and  increases  on  each 
occasion  ; all — all  this  reminds  me  only  too  forcibly  of 
the  awful  fate  of  a certain  unhappy  man,  who,  in  many 
respects  like  you,  began  to  play  under  circumstances 
similar  to  those  which  you  have  described  in  your  own 
case.  And  therefore  it  was  that  I could  not  keep  my 
eyes  off  you,  and  that  I was  hardly  able  to  restrain 
rnyself  from  saying  in  words  what  my  glances  were 
meant  to  tell  you.  ‘ Oh  ! see — see — see  the  demons 
stretching  out  their  talons  to  drag  you  down  into  the 
pit  of  ruin.’  Thus  I should  like  to  have  called  to  you. 
I was  desirous  of  making  your  acquaintance  ; and  I 
have  succeeded.  Let  me  tell  you  the  history  of  the 
unfortunate  man  whom  I mentioned  ; you  will  then 
perhaps  be  convinced  that  it  is  no  idle  phantom  of  the 
brain  when  I see  you  in  the  most  imminent  danger, 
and  warn  you.” 

The  stranger  and  the  Baron  both  sat  down  upon  a 
seat  which  stood  quite  isolated,  and  then  the  stranger 
began  as  follows  : — 

“ The  same  brilliant  qualities  which  distinguish  you, 
Herr  Baron,  gained  Chevalier  Menars  the  esteem  and 
admiration  of  men  and  made  him  a favourite  amongst 
women.  In  riches  alone  Fortune  had  nqU  been  so 
gracious  to  him  as  she  has  been  to  you  ; he  was  almost 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


251 


in  want  ; and  it  was  only  through  exercising  the  strict- 
est economy  that  he  was  enabled  to  appear  in  a state 
becoming  his  position  as  the  scion  of  a distinguished 
family.  Since  even  the  smallest  loss  would  be  serious 
for  him  and  upset  the  entire  tenor  of  his  course  of  life, 
he  dare  not  indulge  in  play  ; besides,  he  had  no  incli- 
nation to  do  so,  and  it  was  therefore  no  act  of  self-sacri- 
fice on  his  part  to  avoid  the  tables.  It  is  to  be  added 
that  he  had  the  most  remarkable  success  in  everything 
which  he  took  in  hand,  so  that  Chevalier  Menars’  good- 
luck  became  a by-word. 

“ One  night  he  suffered  himself  to  be  persuaded, 
contrary  to  his  practice,  to  visit  a play-house.  The 
friends  whom  he  had  accompanied  were  soon  deeply 
engaged  in  play. 

“Without  taking  any  interest  in  what  was  going 
forward,  the  Chevalier,  busied  with  thoughts  of  quite 
a different  character,  first  strode  up  and  down  the 
apartment  and  then  stood  with  his  eyes  fi.,y.ed  up.qji.-l.he 
gaming-table,  where  the  gold  continued  to  pour  in 
upon  the  banker  from  all  sides.  All  at  once  an  old... 
colonel  observed  the  Chevalier,  and  cried  out,  ‘ The 
devil ! Here  we’ve  got  Chevalier  Menars  and  his 
good-luck  amongst  us,  and  yet  we  can  win  nothing, 
since  he  has  declared  neither  for  the  banker  nor  for 
the  punters.  But  we  can’t  have  it  so  any  longer  ; he 

to  excuse  himself  on  the 
ground  of  his  lack  of  skill  and  total  want  of  experience 
were  of  no  avail  ; the  Colonel  was  not  to  be  denied  ; 
the  Chevalier  must  take  his  place  at  the  table. 

“ The  Chevalier  had  exactly  the  same  run  of  fortune 
that  you  have,  Herr  Baron.  The  cards  fell  favourable 
fürJfim,  and  he  had  soon  won  a con s i d enable. , sum  for 
the  Colonel,  whose  joy  at  his  grand  thought  of  claim- 


“All  the  Baron’s  attempts 


252 


GAMBLER’S  LUCK. 


ing  the  loan  of  Chevalier  Menars’  steadfast  good-luck 
knew  no  bounds. 

“ This  good-luck,  which  quite  astonished  all  the  rest 
of  those  present,  made  not  the  slightest  impression 
upon  the  Chevalier  ; nay,  somehow,  in  a way  inexpli- 
cable to  himself,  his  aversion  to  play  took  deeper  root, 
so  that  on  the  following  morning  when  he  awoke  and 
felt  the  consequences  of  his  exertion  during  the  night, 
through  which  he  had  been  awake,  in  a general  relaxa- 
tion both  mental  and  physical,  he  took  a most  earnest 
resolve  never  again  under  any  circumstances_to.yisit  a 
play-house. 

“ And  in  this  resolution  he  was  still  further  strength- 
ened by  the  old  Colonel’s  conduct ; he  b*id  the  most 
decided  ijl-luck  with  every  card.Jie-Took  up  ; and  the 
blame  for  this  run  of  bad-luck  he,  with  the  most  extra- 
ordinary infatuation,  put  upon  the  Chevalier’s  shoul- 
ders. In  an  importunate  manner  he  demanded  J:hat 
the  Chevalier  should  either  punt  for  him  or  at  any  rate 
stand  at  his  side,  so  as  by  his  presence  to  banish  the 
perverse  demon  who  always  put  into  his  hands  cards 
which  never  turned  up  right.  Of  course  it  is  well 
known  that  there  is  more  absurd  superstition  to  be 
found  amongst  gamblers  than  almost  anywhere  else. 
The  only  way  in  which  the  Chevalier  could  get  rid  of 
the  Colonel  was  by  declaring  in  a tone  of  great  serious- 
ness that  he  would  rather  fight  him  than  play  for  him, 
for  the  Colonel  was  no  great  friend  of  duels.  The 
Chevalier  cursed  his  good-nature  in  having  complied 
with  the  old  fool’s  request  at  first. 

“ Now  nothing  less  was  to  be  expected  than  that  the 
story  of  the  Baron’s  marvellously  lucky  play  should 
pass  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  also  that  all  sorts  of 
enigmatical  mysterious  circumstances  should  be  in- 
vented and  added  on  to  it,  representing  the  Chevalier 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


253 


as  a man  in  league  with  supernatural  powers.  But  the 
fact  that  the  Chevalier  in  spite  of  his  good-luck  did 
not  touch  another  card,  could  not  fail  to  inspire  the 
highest  respect  for  his  firmness  of  character,  and  so 
very  much  increase  the  esteem  which  he  already  en- 
joyed. 

“ Somewhere  about  a year  later  the  Chevalier  was 
suddenly  placed  in  a most  painful  and  embarrassing 
position  owing  to  the  non-arrival  of  the  small  sum  o| 
maasy-u^en  which  he  relied  to  defray  his  current  ex- 
penses. He  was  obliged  to  disclose  his  circumstances 
to  his  most  intimate  friend,  who  without  hesitation 
supplied  him  with  what  he  needed,  at  the  same  time 
twitting  him  with  being  the  most  hopelessly  eccentric 
fellow  that  ever  was.  ‘ Destiny,’  said  he  ‘gives  us  hints 
in  what  way  and  where  we  ought  to  seek  our  own 
benefit  ; and  we  have  only  our  own  indolence  to  blame 
if  we  do  not  heed,  do  not  understand  these  hints.  The 
Higher  Power  that  rules  over  us  has  whispered  quite 
plainly  in  your  ears,  If  you  want  money  and  property 
go  and  play,  else  you  will  be  poor  and  needy,  and  never 
independent,  as  long  as  you  live.’ 

“ And  now  for  the  first  time  the  thought  of  how  won- 
derfully fortune  had  favoured  him  at  the  faro-bank 
took  clear  and  distinct  shape  in  his  mind  ; and  both  in 
his  dreams  and  when  awake  he  heard  the  banker’s  mo- 
notonous gagne,  perd?  and  the  rattle  of  the  gold  pieces. 
‘Yes,  it  is  undoubtedly  so,’  he  said  to  himself,. ‘^single 
night  like  that  one  before  would  free  me  from  my  diffi- 
culties, and  help  me  over  the  painful  embarrassment 
of  being  a burden  to  my  friends  ; it  is  my  duty  to  fol- 
low the  beckoning  finger  of  fate.’  The  friends  who 

1 The  words  “win,”  “lose,”  with  which  the  banker  places  the  two 
cards  on  the  table,  the  first  to  his  right  for  himself,  the  second  on  his 
left  for  the  punter. 


254 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


had  advised  him  to  try  play,  accompanied  him  to  the 
play-house,  and  gave  him  twenty  Louis  (Lor  1 more  that 
he  mighiTbegin  unconcerned. 

“ If  the  Chevalier’s  play  had  been  splendid  when  he 
punted  for  the  old  Colonel,  it  was  indeed  doubly  so 
now.  Blindly  and  without  choice  he  drew  the  cards  he 
staked  upon,  but  the  invisible  hand  of  that  Higher 
Power  which  is  intimately  related  to  Chance,  or  rather 
actually  is  what  we  call  Chance,  seemed  to  be  regulat- 
ing his  play.  At  the  end  of  the  evening  he  had  won  a 
thousand  LoiiisGEorL 

“ Next  morning  he  awoke  with  a kind  of  dazed  feel- 
ing. The  gold  pieces  he  had  won  lay  scattered  about 
beside  him  on  the  table.  At  the  first  moment  he 
fancied  he  was  dreaming  ; he  rubbed  his  eyes  ; he 
grasped  the  table  and  pulled  it  nearer  towards  him. 
But  when  he  began  to  reflect  upon  what  had  happened, 
when  he  buried  his  fingers  amongst  the  gold  pieces, 
when  he  counted  them  with  gratified  satisfaction,  and 
even  counted  them  through  again,  then  delight  in  the 
base  mammon  shot  for  the  first  time  like  a pernicious 
poisonous  breath  through  his  every  nerve  and  fibre, 
then  it  was  all  over  with  the  ' of  sentiment  which 


he  had  so  long  preserved  intactv  He  could  hardly  wait 
for  night  to  come  that  he  might  go  to  the  faro-table 
again.  His  good-luck  continued  constant,  so  that  after 
a few  weeks,  during  which  he  played  nearly  ever}'  night, 
he  had  won  a considerable  sum. 

“ Now  there  are  two  sorts  of  players.  Play  simply 
as  such  affords  to  many  an  indescribable  and  mysterious 
pleasure,  totally  irrespective  of  gain.  The  strange  com- 
plications of  chance  occur  with  the  most  surprising 


1 The  new  Louis  d' or  were  worth  somewhat  less  than  the  old  coins 
of  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.  and  Louis  XV.  (See  note,  page  175.) 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


255 


waywardness  ; the  government  of  the  Higher  Power) 
becomes  conspicuously  evident ; and  this  it  is  which/ 
stirs  up  our  spirit  to  move  its  wings  and  see  if  it  can- 
not soar  upwards  into  the  mysterious  kingdom,  the 
fateful  workshop  of  this  Power,  in  order  to  surprise  it 
at  its  labours. 

“ I once  knew  a man  who  spent  many  days  and 
nights  alone  in  his  room,  keeping  a bank  and  punting 
against  himself  ; this  man  was,  according  to  my  way  of 
thinking,  a genuine  player.  Others  have  nothing  but 
gain  before  their  eyes,  and  look  upon  play  as  a means 
to  getting  rich  speedily.  This  class  the  Chevalier 
joined,  thus  once  more  establishing  the  truth  of  the 
saying  that  the  real  deeper  inclination  for  play  must  lie 
in  the  individual  nature — must  be  born  in  it.  And  for 
this  reason  he  soon  found  the  sphere  of  activity  to 
which  the  punter  is  confined  too  narrow.  .With  the  very 
large  sum  of  money  that  he  had  won  by  gambling  he 
established  a bank  of  his  own  ; and  in  this  enterprise 
for  führe'  Ta  vou  red  him  to“  such  an  extent  that  within  a 
short  time  his  bank  was  the  richest  in  all  Paris.  And  | 
agreeably  to  the  nature  of  the  case,  the  largest  propor- 
tion of  players  flocked  to  him,  the  richest  and  luckiest 
banker. 

“ The  heartless,  demoralising  life  of  a gambler  soon 
blotted  out  all  those  advantages,  as  well  mental  as 
physical,  which  had  formerly  secured  to  the  Chevalier 
people’s  affection  and  esteem.  He  ceased  to  be  a 
faithful  friend,  a cheerful,  easy  guest  in  society,  a 
chivalrous  and  gallant  admirer  of  the  fair  sex.  Ex- 1 
tinguished  was  all  his  taste  for  science  and  art,  and 
gone  all  striving  to  advance  along  the  road  to  sound 
knowledge.  Upon  his  deathly  pale  countenance,  and 
in  his  gloomy  eyes,  where  a dim,  restless  fire  gleamed, 
was  to  be  read  the  full  expression  of  the  extremely 


256 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK, . 


baneful  passion  in  whose  toils  he  was  entangled.  It 
Was  not  fondness  for  play,  no,  it  was  the  most  abomi- 
nable avarice  which  had  been  enkindled  in  his  soul  by 
Satan  himself.  In  a single  word,  he  was  the  most 
finished  specimen  of  a faro-banker  that  may  be  seen 
anywhere. 

“One  night  Fortune  was  less  favourable -to  the 
Chevalier  -than  usual,  although  he  suffered  no  loss  of 
any  consequence.  Then  a little  thin  old  man,  meanly 
clad,  and  almost  repulsive  to  look  at,  approached  the 
table,  drew  a card  with  a trembling  hand,  and  placed_ 
a gold  piece  upon  it.  Several  of  the  players  looked  up 
at  the  old  man  at  first  greatly  astonished,  but  after  that 
they  treated  him  with  provoking  contempt.  Neverthe- 
less his  face  never  moved  a muscle,  far  less  did  he  utter 
a single  word  of  complaint. 

“The  old  man  lost  ; he  lost  one  stake  after  another ; 
but  the  higHeFTTis  losses  rose  the  more  pleased  the 
other  players  got.  And  at  last,  when  the  new-comer, 
who  continued  to  double  his  stake  every  time,  placed 
five  hundred  Louis  d’or  at  once  upon  a card  and  this  the 
very  next  moment  turned  up  on  the  losing  side,  one 
of  the  other  players  cried  with  a laugh,  ‘ Good-luck, 
Signor  Vertua,  good-luck!  Don’t  lose  heart.  Go  on 
staking  ; you  look  to  me  as  if  you  would  finish  with 
breaking  the  bank  through  your  immense  winnings.’ 
The  old  man  shot  a basilisk-like  look  upon  the  mocker 
and  hurried  away,  but  only  to  return  at  the  end  of 
half  an  hour  with  his  pockets  full  of  gold.  In  the  last 
faille  he  was,  however,  obliged  to  cease  playing,  since 
he  had  again  lost  all  the  money  he  had  brought  back 
with  him. 

“ This  scornful  and  contemptuous  treatment  of  the 
old  man  had  excessively  annoyed  the  Chevalier,  for  in 
spite  of  all  his  abominable  praeticespfeyeT insisted  on 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


257 


certain  rules  of  good  behaviour  being  observed  at  his 
table.  And  so  on  the  conclusion  of  the  game,  when 
Signor  Vertua  had  taken  his  departure,  the  Chevalier 
felt  he  had  sufficient  grounds  to  speak  a serious  word 
or  two  to  the  mocker,  as  well  as  to  one  or  two  other 
players  whose  contemptuous  treatment  of  the  old  man 
had  been  most  conspicuous,  and  whom  the  Chevalier 
had  bidden  stay  behind  for  this  purpose. 

“‘Ah!  but,  Chevalier,’  cried  one  of  them,  ‘you 
don’t  know  old  Francesco  Vertua,  or  else  you  would 
have  no  fault  to  find  with  ui?  and  our  behaviour 
towards  him  ; you  would  rather  approve  of  it.  For 
let  me  tell  you  that  this  Vertua,  a Neapolitan  by  birth, 


dirtiest,  most  pestilent  miser  and  usurer  who  can  be 
found  anywhere.  He~Ts  a stranger  to  every  human 
feeling  ; if  he  saw  his  own  brother  writhing  at  his  feet 
in  the  agonies  of  death,  it  would  be  an  utter  waste  of 
pains  to  try  to  entice  a single  Louis  d' or  from  him,  even 
if  it  were  to  save  his  brother’s  life.  He  has  a heavy 
burden  of  curses  and  imprecations  to  bear,  which  have 
been  showered  down  upon  him  by  a multitude  of  men, 
nay,  by  entire  families,  who  have  been  plunged  into 
the  deepest  distress  through  his  diabolical  speculations. 
He  is  hated  like  poison  by  all  who  know  him  ; every- 
body wishes'  that  vengeance  may  overtake  him  for  all 
the  evil  that  he  has  done,  and  that  it  may  put  an  end  to 
his  career  of  iniquity.  He  has  never  played  before,  at 
least  since  he  has  been  in  Paris ; and  so  from  all  this 
you  need  not  wonder  at  our  being  so  greatly  astounded 
when  the  old  skin-flint  appeared  at  your  table.  -And 
for  the  same  reasons  we  were,  of  course,  pleased_at.Xhe 
old  fellow’s  serious  losses,  for  it  would  have  been  hard, 
very  hard,  if  the  old  rascal  had  been  favoured  by  For- 
tune. It  is  only  too  certain,  Chevalier,  that  the  old  fool 
Vol.  IL — 17 


who  has  been  fifteen 


258 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


has  been  deluded  by  the  riches  of  your  bank.  He 
intending  to  pluck  you  and  has  lost  his  own  feathers. 
But  yet  it  completely  puzzles  me  how  Vertua  could  act 
thus  in  a way  so  opposite  to  the  true  character  of  a 
miser,  and  could  bring  himself  to  play  so  high.  Ah ! 
well — you’ll  see  he  will  not  come  again  ; we  are  now 
quit  of  him.’ 

“ But  this  opinion  proved  to  be  far  from  correct,  for 
on  the  very  next  night  Vertua  presented  himself  nt-the 
Chevalier’s  bank  again,  and  staked  and  lojst  much  more 
heavily  than  on  the  night  preceding.  But  he  preserved 
a calm  demeanour  through  it  all  ; he  even  smiled  at 
times  with  a sort  of  bitter  irony,  as  though  foreseeing 
how  soon  things  would  be  totally  changed.  But  during 
each  of  the  succeeding  nights  the  old  man’s  losses  in- 
creased like  a glacier  at  a greater  and  greater  rate,  till 
at  last  it  was  calculated  that  he  had  paid  over  thirty 
thousand  Louis. or  to  the  bank.  Finally  he  entered 
the  hall  one  evening,  long  after  play  had  begun,  with  a 
deathly  pale  face  and  troubled  looks,  and  took  up  his 
post  at  some  distance  from  the  table,  his  eyes  riveted 
in  a set  stare  upon  the  cards  which  the  Chevalier  suc- 
cessively drew.  At  last,  just  as  the  Chevalier  had 
shuffled  the  cards,  had  had  them  cut  and  was  about  to 
begin  the  taille,  the  old  man  cried  in  such  a harsh  grat- 
ing voice,  ‘ Stop  ! ’ that  everybody  looked  round  well- 
nigh  dismayed.  Then,  forcing  his  way  to  the  table 
close  up  to  the  Chevalier,  he  said  in  his  ear,  speaking 
in  a hoarse  voice,  ‘ Chevalier,  my  house  in  the  Rue  St. 
Honore,  together  with  all  the  furniture  and  all  the  gold 
and  silver  and  all  the  jewels  I possess,  are  valued  at 
eighty  thousand  francs,  will  you  accept  the  stake  ? ’ 
‘Very  good,’  replied  the  Chevalier  coldly,  without  look- 
ing round  at  the  old  man  ; and  he  began  the  taille. 

“ ‘ The  queen,’  said  Vertua  ; and  at  the  next  draw  the 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


259 


queen  had  lost.  The  old  man  reeled  back  from  the 
table  and  leaned  against  the  wall  motionless  and  para- 
lysed, like  a rigid  stone  statue.  Nobody  troubled  him- 
self any  further  about  him. 

“ Play  was  over  for  thfe  night  ; the  players  were  dis- 
persing ; the  Chevalier  and  his  croupiers  1 were  packing 
away  in  the  strong  box  the  gold  he  had  won.  Then 
old  Vertua  staggered  like  a ghost  out  of  the  corner 
towards  the  Chevalier  and  addressed  him  in  a hoarse, 
hollow  voice,  ‘ Yet  a word  with  you,  Chevalier, — -only  a 
single  word.’ 

“ ‘Well,  what  is  it  ?’  replied  the  Chevalier,  withdraw- 
ing the  key  from  the  lock  of  the  strong  box  and  meas- 
uring the  old  man  from  head  to  foot  with  a look  of 
contempt. 

“ ‘I  have  lost  all  my  property  at  your  bank,  Cheva- 
lier,’ went  on  the  old  man  ; ‘ I have  nothing,  nothing- 
left.  I don’t  know  where  I shall  lay  my  head  to- 
morrow, nor  how  I shall  appease  my  hunger.  You  are 
my  last  resource,  Chevalier  ; lend  me  the  tenth  , part,  of  - 
the  sum  I have  lost  to  you  that  I may-begin  my  busi- 
ness over  again,  and  so  work  my  way  up  out  of  the 
distressed  state  I now  am  in.’ 

“‘Whatever  are  you  thinking  about,’ rejoined  the 
Chevalier,  ‘whatever  are  you  thinking  about,  Signor 
Vertua?  Don’t  you  know  that  a faro-banker  never 
dare  lend  of  his  winnings  ? That’s  against  the  old  rule, 
and  I am  not  going  to  violate  it.’ 

“‘You  are  right,’ went  on  Vertua  again.  ‘You  are 
right,  Chevalier.  My  request  was  senseless — extrava- 
gant— the  tenth  part ! No,  lend  me  the  twentieth  part.’ 

‘ I tell  you,’  replied  the  Chevalier  impatiently,  ‘ that  I 
won’t  lend  a farthing  of  my  winnings.’ 

1 The  banker’s  assistants,  who  shuffle  cards  for  him,  change  cheques, 
notes,  and  make  themselves  generally  useful. 


2ÖO 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


“ ‘ True,  true,’  said  Vertua,  his  face  growing  paler  and 
paler  and  his  gaze  becoming  more  and  more  set  and 
staring,  ‘true,  you  ought  not  to  lend  anything — I never 
used  to  do.  But  give  some  alms  to  a beggar — give  him 
a hundred  Louis  d' or  of  the  riches  which  blind  Fortune 
has  thrown  in  your  hands  to-day.’ 

“ ‘ Of  a verity  you  know  how  to  torment  people, 
Signor  Vertua,’  burst  out  the  Chevalier  angrily.  ‘ I tell 
you  you  won’t  get  so  much  as  a hundred,  nor  fifty,  nor 
twenty,  no,  not  so  much  as  a single  Louis  d'or  from 
me.  I should  be  mad  to  make  you  even  the  smallest 
advance,  so  as  to  help  you  begin  your  shameful  trade 
over  again.  Fate  has  stamped  you  in  the  dust  like  a 
poisonous  reptile,  and  it  would  simply  be  villainy  for 
me  to  aid  you  in  recovering  yourself.  Go  and  perish 
as  you  deserve.’ 

“ Pressing  both  hands  over  his  face,  Vertua  sank  on 
the  floor  with  a muffled  groan.  The  Chevalier  ordered 
his  servant  to  take  the  strong-box  down  to  his  carriage, 
and  then  cried  in  a loud  voice,  ‘When  will  you  hand 
over  to  me  your  house  and  effects,  Signor  Vertua?’ 
“Vertua  hastily  picked  himself  up  from  the  ground 
and  said  in  a firm  voice,  ‘ Now,  at  once — this  moment, 
Chevalier;  come  with  me.’ 

“‘Good,’  replied  the  Chevalier,  ‘you  may  ride  with 
me  as  far  as  your  house,  which  you  shall  leave  to- 
morrow for  good.’ 

“ All  the  way  neither  of  them  spoke  a single  word, 
neither  Vertua  nor  the  Chevalier.  Arrived  in  front  of 
the  house  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  Vertua  pulled  the 
bell ; an  old  woman  opened  the  door,  and  on  perceiving 
it  was  Vertua  cried,  ‘ Oh  ! good  heavens,  Signor  Vertua, 
is  that  you  at  last  ? -Ajtg^a_i£Lha.lii.jdead  with  anxiety 
on  your  account.’ 

“ ‘ Silence,’  replied  Vertua.  ‘ God  grant  she  has  not 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


261 


heard  this  unlucky  bell ! She  is  not  to  know  that  I have 
come.’  And  therewith  he  took  the  lighted  candle  out 
of  the  old  woman’s  hand,  for  she  appeared  to  be  quite 
stunned,  and  lighted  the  Chevalier  up  to  his  own  room. 

‘“I  am  prepared  for  the  worst,’  said  Vertua.  ‘You 
hate,  you  despise  me,  Chevalier.  You  have  ruined  me, 
to  your  own  and  other  people’s  joy  ; but  you  do  not 
know  me.  Let  me  tell  you  then  that  I was  once  a 
gambler  like  you,  that  capricious  Fortune  was  as 
favourable  to  me  as  she  is  to  you,  that  I travelled 
through  half  Europe,  stopping  everywhere  where  high 
play  and  the  hope  of  large  gains  enticed  me,  that  the 
piles  of  gold  continually  increased  in  my  bank  as  they 
do  in  yours.  I had  a true  and  beautiful  wife,  whom  I 
neglected,  and  she  was  miserable  in  the  midst-eL-ahl 
her  magnificence  ändTvealth.  It  happened  once,  when 
T had  set  up  my  bank  in  Genoa,  that  a young  Roman 
lost  all  his  rich  patrimony  at  my  bank.  He  besought 
me  to  lend  him  money,  as  I did  you  to-day,  sufficient  at 
least  to  enable  him  to  travel  back  to  Rome.  I refused 
with  a laugh  of  mocking  scorn,  and  in  the  insane  fury 
of  despair  he  thrust  the  stiletto  which  he  wore  right 
into  my  breast.  At  great  pains  the  surgeons  succeeded 
in  saving  me  ; but  it  was  a wearying  painful  time 
whilst  I lay  on  the  bed  of  sickness.  Then  my  wife 
tended  me,  comforted  me,  and  kept  up  my  courage 
when  I was  ready  to  sink  under  my  sufferings  ; and  as 
I grew  towards  recovery  a feeling  began  to  glimmer 
within  me  which  I had  never  experienced  before,  and 
it  waxed  ever  stronger  and  stronger.  A gambler  be- 
comes an  alien  to  all  human  emotion,  and  hence  I j 
had  not  known  what  wras  the  meaning  of  a wife’s  love 
and  faithful  attachment.  The  debt  of  what  I owed 
my  wife  burned  itself  into  my  ungrateful  heart,  and 
also  the  sense  of  the  villainous  conduct  to  which  I had 


262 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


sacrificed  her.  All  those  whose  life’s  happiness,  whose 
entire  existence,  I had  ruined  with  heartless  indiffer- 
ence were  like  tormenting  spirits  of  vengeance,  and  I 
heard  their  hoarse  hollow  voices  echoing  from  the 
grave,  upbraiding  me  with  all  the  guilt  and  crimi- 
nality, the  seed  of  which  I had  planted  in  their  bosoms. 
It  was  only  my  wife  who  was  able  to  drive  away  the 
unutterable  distress  and  horror  that  then  came  upon 
me.  I made  a vow  never  to  touch  a card  more.  I lived 
in  retirement  ; I rent  asunder  all  the  ties  which  held 
me  fast  to  my  former  mode  of  life  ; I withstood  the  en- 
ticements of  my  croupiers,  when  they  came  and  said 
they  could  not  do  without  me  and  my  good-luck.  I 
bought  a small  country  villa  not  far  from  Rome,  and 
thither,  as  soon  as  I was  recovered  of  my  illness,  I fled 
for  refuge  along  with  my  wife.  Oh  ! only  one  single 
year  did  I enjoy  a calmness,  a happiness,  a peaceful 
pontent,  such  as  I had  never  dreamt  of ! My  wife  bore 
me  a daughter,  and  died  a few  weeks  later.  I was  in 
despair;  I railed  at  Heaven  and  again  cursed  myself 
and  my  reprobate  life,  for  which  Heaven  was  now 
exacting  vengeance  upon  me  by  depriving  me  of  my 
wife — she  who  had  saved  me  from  ruin,  who  was  the 
only  creature  who  afforded  me  hope  and  consolation. 
I was  driven  away  from  my  country'  villa  hither  to 
Paris,  like  the  criminal  who  fears  the  horrors  of  solitude. 
Angela”  grew  up  the  lovely  image  of  her  mother  ; my 
heart  was  wholly  wrapt  up  in  her  ; for  her  sake  I felt 
called  upon  not  so  much  to  obtain  a large  fortune  for 
her  as  to  increase  what  I had  already  got.  It  is  the 
truth  that  I lent  money  at  a high  rate  of  interest ; but 
it  is  a foul  calumny  to  accuse  me  of  deceitful  usury. 
And  who  are  these  my  accusers  ? Thoughtless,  frivo- 
lous people  who  worry  me  to  death  until  I lend  them 
money,  which  they  immediately  go  and  squander  like 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


263 


a thing  of  no  worth,  and  then  get  in  a rage  if  I demand 
inexorable  punctuality  in  repayment  of  the  money 
which  does  not  indeed  belong  to  me, — no,  but  to  my 
daughter,  for  I merely  look  upon  myself  as  her  steward. 
It’s  not  long  since  I saved  a young  man  from  disgrace 
and  ruin  by  advancing  him  a considerable  sum.  As  I 
knew  he  was  terribly  poor,  I never  mentioned  a syllable 
about  repayment  until  I knew  he  had  got  together  a 
rich  property.  Then  I applied  to  him  for  settlement  of 
his  debt.  Would  you  believe  it,  Chevalier  ? the  dis- 
honourable knave,  who  owed  all  he  had  to  me,  tried  to 
deny  the  debt,  and  on  being  compelled  by  the  court  to 
pay  me,  reproached  me  with  being  a villainous  miser  ? 
I could  tell  you  more  such  like  cases  ; and  these  things 
have  made  me  hard  and  insensible  to  emotion  when  I 
have  to  deal  with  folly  and  baseness.  Nay,  more — I 
could  tell  you  of  the  many  bitter  tears  I have  wiped 
away,  and  of  the  many  prayers  which  have  gone  up  to 
Heaven  for  me  and  my  Angela,  but  you  would  only 
regard  it  as  empty  boasting,  and  pay  not  the  slightest 
heed  to  it,  for  you  are  a gambler.  I thought  I had 
satisfied  the  resentment  of  Heaven  ; it  was  but  a delu- 
sion, for  Satan  has  been  permitted  to  lead  me  astray  in 
a more  disastrous  way  than  before.  I heard  of  your 
good-luck,  Chevalier.  Every  day  I heard  that  this  man 
and  that  had  staked  and  staked  at  your  bank  until  he  be- 
came a beggar.  Then  the  thought  came  into  my  mind 
thatXwas  destined  to^try  tny  gambler’s  luck,  which  had 
never  hitherto  deserted  me,  against  yours,  that  the 
power  was  given  me  to  put  a stop  to  your  practices  ; 
and  this  thought,  which  could  only  have  been  engen- 
dered by  some  extraordinary  madness,  left  me  no  rest, 
no  peace.  Hence  I came  to  your  bank  ; and  my  terri- 
ble infatuation  did  not  leave  me  until  all  my  property 
— all  my  Angela’s  property — was  yours.  And  now  the 


264 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


end  has  come.  I presume  you  will  allow  my  daughter 
to  take  her  clothing  with  her  ? ’ 

“‘Your  daughter’s  wardrobe  does  not  concern  me,’ 
replied  the  Chevalier.  ‘You  may  also  take  your  beds 
and  other  necessary  household  utensils,  and  such  like  ; 
for  what  could  I do  with  all  the  old  lumber  ? But  see 
to  it  that  pothing  of  value  of  the  things  which  now 
belong  to  me  get  mixed  up  with  it.’ 

“ Old  Vertua  stared  at  the  Chevalier  a second  or  two 
utterly  speechless  ; then  a flood  of  tears  burst  from  his 
eyes,  and  he  sank  upon  his  knees  in  front  of  the 
Chevalier,  perfectly  upset  with  trouble  and  despair, 
and  raised  his  hands  crying,  ‘ Chevalier,  have  you  still 
a spark  of  human  feeling  left  in  your  breast?  Be  mer- 
ciful, merciful.  It  is  not  I,  but^my^daughterj-^ny. 
Angela,  my  innocent  angelic  child,  whom  you  are 
plunging  into  ruin.  Oh  ! be  merciful  to  her  ; lend  her , 
her , my  Angela,  the  twentieth  part  of  the  property  you 
have  deprived  her  of.  Oh  ! I know  you  will  listen 
to  my  entreaty  ! O Angela  ! my  daughter  ! ’ And 
therewith  the  old  man  sobbed  and  lamented  and 
moaned,  calling  upon  his  child  by  name  in  the  most 
heart-rending  tones. 

“ ‘ I am  getting  tired  of  this  absurd  theatrical  scene,’ 
said  the  Chevalier  indifferently  but  impatiently  ; but 
at  this  moment  the  door  flew  open  and  in  burst  a girl 
in  a white  night-dress,  her  hair  dishevelled,  her  face 
pale  as  death, — burst  in  and  ran  to  old  Vertua,  raised 
him  up,  took  him  in  her  arms,  and  cried,  ‘ O father  ! 
O father!  I have  heard  all,  I know  all!  Have  you  really 
lost  everything — everything,  really  ? Have  you  not 
your  Angela?  What  need  have  we  of  money  and  prop- 
erty ? Will  not  Angela  sustain  you  and  tend  you  ? 
O father,  don’t  humiliate  yourself  a moment  longer 
before  this  despicable  monster.  It  is  not  we,  but  he, 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


265 


who  is  poor  and  miserable  in  the  midst  of  his  con- 
temptible riches ; for  see,  he  stands  there  deserted  in 
his  awful  hopeless  loneliness  ; there  is  not  a heart  in 
all  the  wide  world  to  cling  lovingly  to  his  breast,  to 
open  out  to  him  when  he  despairs  of  his  own  life,  of 
himself.  Come,  father  Leave  this  house  with  me. 
Come,  let  rnTmake  haste  and  be  gone,  that  this  fearful 
man  may  not  exult  over  your  trouble.’ 

“ Vertua  sank  half  fainting  into  an  easy-chair.  Angela 
knelt  down  before  him,  took  his  hands,  kissed  them, 
fondled  them,  enumerated  with  childish  loquacity  all 
the  talents,  all  the  accomplishments,  which  she  was 
mistress  of,  and  by  the  aid  of  which  she  would  earn  a 
comfortable  living  for  her  father  ; she  besought  him 
from  the  midst  of  burning  tears  to  put  aside  all  his 
trouble  and  distress,  since  her  life  would  now  first  ac- 
quire true  significance,  when  she  had  to  sew,  embroider, 
sing,  and  play  her  guitar,  not  for  mere  pleasure,  but 
for  her  father’s  sake. 

“Who,  however  hardened  a sinner,  could  have  re- 
mained insensible  at  the  sight  of  Angela,  thus  radiant 
in  her  divine  beauty,  comforting  her  old  father  with 
sweet  soft  words,  whilst  the  purest  affection,  the  most 
childlike  goodness,  beamed  from  her  eyes,  evidently 
coming  from  the  very  depths  of  her  heart  ? 

“ Quite  otherwise  was  it  with  the  Chevalier.  A per- 
fect Gehenna  of  torment  and  of  the  stinging  of  con- 
science was  awakened  within  him.  Angela  appeared 
to  him  to  be  the  avenging  angel  of  God,  before  whose 
splendour  the  misty  veil  of  his  wicked  infatuation 
melted  away,  so  that  he  saw  with  horror  the  repulsive 
nakedness  of  his  own  miserable  soul.  Yet  right  through 
the  midst  of  the  flames  of  this  infernal  pit  that  was 
blazing  in  the  Chevalier’s  heart  passed  a divine  and 
pure  ray,  whose  emanations  of  light  were  the  sweetest 


266 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


rapture,  the  very  bliss  of  heaven  ; but  the  shining  of 
this  ray  only  made  his  unutterable  torments  the  more 
terrible  to  bear. 

“ The  Chevalier  had  never  been  in  love.  The  moment 
in  which  he  saw  Angela  was  the  moment  in  which  he 
was  to  experience  the  most  ardent  passion,  and  also  at 
the  same  time  the  crushing  pain  of  utter  hopelessness. 
For  no  man  who  had  appeared  before  the  pure  angel- 
child,  lovely  Angela,  in  the  way  the  Chevalier  had  done, 
could  dream  of  hope.  He  attempted  to  speak,  but  his 
tongue  seemed  to  be  numbed  by  cramp.  At  last,  con- 
trolling himself  with  an  effort,  he  stammered  with 
trembling  voice,  ‘Signor  Vertua,  listen  to  me.  I have 
not  won  anything  from  you — nothing  at  all.  There  is 
my  strong  -box  -;.  It  is  yours, — nay,  I must  pay  you  yet 
more  than  there  is  there.  I am  your  debtor.  There, 
take  it,  take  it  ! ’ 

“ ‘ O my  daughter  ! ’ cried  Vertua.  But  Angela  rose 
to  her  feet,  approached  the  Chevalier,  and  flashed  a 
proud  look  upon  him,  saying  earnestly  and  composedly, 
‘ Chevalier,  allow  me  to  tell  you  that  there  is  something 
higher  than  money  and  goods  ; there  are  sentiments  to 
wThich  you  are  a stranger,  which,  whilst  sustaining  our 
souls  with  the  comfort  of  Heaven,  bid  us  reject  your 
gift,  your  favour,  with  contempt.  Keep  your  mammon, 
which  is  burdened  with  the  curse  that  pursues  you,  you 
heartless,  depraved  gambler.’ 

“ ‘ Yes,’  cried  the  Chevalier  in  a fearful  voice,  his  eyes 
flashing  wildly,  for  he  was  perfectly  beside  himself, 
‘ yes,  accursed, — accursed  will  I be — down  into  the 
depths  of  damnation  may  I be  hurled  if  ever  again  this 
hand  touches  a card.  And  if  you  then  send  me  from 
you,  Angela,  then  it  will  be  you  who  will  bring  irrepar- 
able ruin  upon  me.  Oh  ! you  don’t  know — you  don't 
understand  me.  You  can’t  help  but  call  me  insane  ; but 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


267 


you  will  feel  it — you  will  know  all,  when  you  see  me 
stretched  at  your  feet  with  my  brains  scattered.  Angela ! 
It’s  now  a question  of  life  or  death  ! Farewell  ! ’ 

“ Therewith  the  Chevalier  rushed  off  in  a state  of 
perfect  despair.  Vertua  saw  through  him  completely  ; 
he  knew  what  change  had  come  over  him  ; he  endeav- 
oured to  make  his  lovely  Angela  understand  that 
certain  circumstances  might  arise  which  would  make 
it  necessary  to  accept  the  Chevalier’s  present.  Angela 
trembled  with  dread  lest  she  should  understand  her 
father.  She  did  not  conceive  how  it  would  ever  be 
possible  to  meet  the  Chevalier  on  any  other  terms  save 
those  of  contempt.  Destiny,  which  often  ripens  into 
shape  deep  down  in  the  human  heart,  without  the  mind 
being  aware  of  it,  permitted  that  to  take  place  which 
had  never  been  thought  of,  never  been  dreamed  of. 

“ The  Chevalier  was  like  a man  suddenly  wakened  up 
out  of  a fearful  dream  ; he  saw  himself  standing  on  the 
brink^of  the  abyss  of  ruin,  and  stretched  out  his  arms 
in  vain  towards  the  bright  shining  figure  which  had  ap- 
peared to  him,  not,  however,  to  save  him — no — but  to 
remind  him  of  his  damnation. 

“ To  the  astonishment  of  all  Paris,  Chevalier  Me- 
nars'  bank  disappeared  from  the  gambling-house  ; jio- 
body  ever  saw  him  again  ; and  hence  the  most  diverse 
and  extraordinary  rumours  were  current,  each  of  them 
more  false  than  the  rest.  The  Chevalier  shunned  all 
society  ; his  love  found  expression  in  the  deepest  and 
most  unconquerable  despondency.  It  happened,  how- 
ever, that  old  Vertua  and  his  daughter  one  day  suddenly 
crossed  his  path  in  one  of  the  dark  and  lonely  alleys  of 
the  garden  of  Malmaison.1 

1 Malmaison  is  a chateau  and  park  situated  about  six  miles  W.  of 
Paris.  It  once  belonged  to  Richelieu  ; and  there  the  Empress  Jose- 
phine lived,  and  there  she  died  on  the  13th  May,  1814. 


268 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


“ Angela,  who  thought  she  could  never  look  upon 
the  Chevalier  without  contempt  and  abhorrence,  felt 
strangely  moved  on  seeing  him  so  deathly  pale,  terribly 
shaken  with  trouble” h a rdl y da r i hg~iTi "h  i S"S lYy7e s p e c t to 
raise  his  eves.  She  knew  quite  well  that  ever  since  that 
ill-omened  night  he  had  altogether  relinquished  gam- 
bling and  effected  a complete  revolution  in  his  habits 
of  life.  She,  she  alone  had  brought  all  this  about,  she 
had  saved  the  Chevalier  from  ruin — could  anything  be 
^more  flattering  to  her  woman’s  vanity  ? Hence  it  was 
'that,  after  Vertua  had  exchanged  the  usual  complimen- 
tary remarks  with  the  Chevalier,  Angela  asked  in  a 
tone  of  gentle  and  sympathetic  pity,  ‘ What  is  the  matter 
with  you,  Chevalier  Menars  ? You  are  looking  very  ill 
and  full  of  trouble.  I am  sure  you  ought  to  consult  a 
physician.’ 

“ It  is  easy  to  imagine  how  Angela’s  words  fell  like 
a comforting  ray  of  hope  upon  the  Chevalier’s  heart. 
From  that  moment  he  was  not  like  the  same  man. 
He  lifted  up  his  head  ; he  was  able  to  speak  in  those 
tones,  full  of  the  real  inward  nature  of  the  man,  with 
which  he  had  formerly  won  all  hearts.  Vertua  exhorted 
him  to  come  and  take  possession  of  the  house  he  had 
won. 

“ ‘Yes,  Signor  Vertua,’  cried  the  Chevalier  with  ani- 
mation, ‘yes,  that  I will  do.  I will  call  upon  you  to- 
morrow ; but  let  us  carefully  weigh  and  discuss  all  the 
conditions  of  the  transfer,  even  though  it  should  last 
some  months.’ 

“ ‘ Be  it  so  then,  Chevalier,’  replied  Vertua,  smiling. 
‘ I fancy  that  there  will  arise  a good  many  things  to  be 
discussed,  of  which  we  at  the  present  moment  have  no 
idea.’  The  Chevalier,  being  thus  comforted  at  heart, 
could  not  fail  to  develop  again  all  the  charms  of  manner 
which  had  once  been  so  peculiarly  his  own  before  he 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


269 


was  led  astray  by  his  insane,  pernicious  passion  for 
gambling.  His  visits  at  old_Vertna’s  -grew  more  and 
more  frequent ; Angela  conceived  a warmer  and  warmer 
likmglfor  the  man  whose  safeguarding  angel  she  had 
been,  until  finally  she  thought  she  loved  him  with  all 
her  heart  ; and  she^pTomised  him  her  hand,  to  the  great 
joy  of  old  Vertua,  who  at  last  felt  that  the  settlement 
respecting  the  property  he  had  lost  to  the  Chevalier 
could  now  be  concluded. 

“ One  day  Angela,  Chevalier  Menars’  happy  be- 
trothed, sat  at  her  window  wrapped  up  in  varied 
thoughts  of  the  delights  and  happiness  of  love,  such  as 
young  girls  wdien  betrothed  are  wont  to  dwell  upon. 
A regiment  of  chasseurs  passed  by  to  the  merry  sound 
of  the  trumpet,  bound  for  a campaign  in  Spain.  As 
Angela  was  regarding  with  sympathetic  interest  the 
poor  men  who  were  doomed  to  death  in  the  wicked  war, 
a young  man  wheeled  his  horse  quickly  to  one  side 
and  looked  up  at  her,  and  she  sank  back  in  her  chair 
fainting. 

“ Oh  ! the  chasseur  who  was  riding  to  meet  a bloody 
death  was  none  other  than  young  Duvernet.  their 
neighbour’s  son,  with  whom  she  had  grown  up,  who 
had  run  in  and  out  of  the  house  nearly  every  day,  and 
had  only  kept  away  since  the  Chevalier  had  begun  to 
visit  them. 

“ In  the  young  man’s  glance,  which  was  charged 
with  reproaches  having  all  the  bitterness  of  death  in 
them,  Angela  became  conscious  for  the  first  time,  not 
only  that  he  loved  her  unspeakably,  but  also  how  bound- 
less was  the  love  which  she  herself  felt  for  him.  Hith- 
erto she  had  not  been  conscious  of  it  ; she  had  been  in- 
fatuated, fascinated  by  the  glitter  which  gathered  ever 
more  thickly  about  the  Chevalier.  She  now  under- 
stood, and  for  the  first  time,  the  youth’s  labouring  sighs 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


270 

and  quiet  unpretending  homage  ; and  now  too  she  also 
understood  her  own  embarrassed  heart  for  the  first  time, 
knew  what  had  caused  the  fluttering  sensation  in  her 
breast  when  Duvernet  had  come,  and  when  she  had 
heard  his  voice. 

“ ‘ It  is  too  late  ! I have  lost  him  ! ’ was  the  voice  that 
spoke  in  Angela’s  soul.  She  had  courage  enough  to 
beat  down  the  feelings  of  wretchedness  which  threat- 
ened to  distract  her  heart ; and  for  that  reason — namely, 
that  she  possessed  the  courage — she  succeeded. 

“ Nevertheless  it  did  not  escape  the  Chevalier’s  acute 
perception  that  something  had  happened  to  powerfully 
affect  Angela  ; but  he  possessed  sufficient  delicacy  of 
feeling  not  to  seek  for  a solution  of  the  mystery",  which 
it  was  evident  she  desired  to  conceal  from  him.  He 
contented  himself  with  depriving  any  dangerous  rival 
of  his  power  by  expediting  the  marriage  ; and  he  made 
all  arrangements  for  its  celebration  with  such  fine  tact, 
and  such  a sympathetic  appreciation  of  his  fair  bride’s 
situation  and  sentiments,  that  she  saw  in  them  a new 
proof  of  the  good  and  amiable  qualities  of  her  hus- 
band. 

“ The  Chevalier’s  behaviour  towards  Angela  showed 
him  attentive  to  her  slightest  wish,  and  exhibited  that 
sincere  esteem  which  springs  from  the  purest  affection  ; 
hence  her  memory  of  Duvernet  soon  vanished  entirely 
from  her  mind.  The  first  cloud  that  dimmed  the  bright 
heaven  of  her  happiness_jyy.as  the  illness  and  death  of 
old  Vertua. 

“ Since  the  night  when  he  had  lost  all  his  fortune  at 
the  Chevalier’s  bank  he  had  never  touched  a card,  but 
during  the  last  moments  of  his  life  play  seemed  to  have 
taken  complete  possession  of  his  soul.  Whilst  the 
priest  who  had  come  to  administer  to  him  the  consola- 
tion of  the  Church  ere  he  died,  was  speaking  to  him  of 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


271 


heavenly  things,  he  lay  with  his  eyes  closed,  murmuring 
between  his  teeth,  ‘ perd,  gagne,’  whilst  his  trembling 
half-dead  hands  went  through  the  motions  of  dealing 
through  a faille,  of  drawing  the  cards.  Both  Angela 
and  the  Chevalier  bent  over  him  and  spoke  to  him  in 
the  tenderest  manner,  but  it  was  of  no  use  ; he  no 
longer  seemed  to  know  them,  nor  even  to  be  aware  of 
their  presence.  With  a deep-drawn  sigh  1 gagne,'  he 
breathed  his  last. 

“ In  the  midst  of  her  distressing  grief  Angela  could 
not  get  rid  of  an  uncomfortable  feeling  of  awe  at  the 
way  in  which  the  old  man  had  died.  She  again  saw  in 
vivid  shape  the  picture  of  that  terrible  night  when  she 
had  first  seen  the  Chevalier  as  a most  hardened  and 
reprobate  gambler  ; and  the  fearful  thought  entered 
her  mind  that  he  might  again,  in  scornful  mockery  of 
her,  cast  aside  his  mask  of  goodness  and  appear  in  his 
original  fiendish  character,  and  begin  to  pursue  his  old 
course  of  life  once  more. 

“And  only  too  soon  was  Angela’s  dreaded  foreboding 
to  become  reality.  However  great  the  awe  which  fell 
upon  the  Chevalier  at  old  Francesco  Vertua’s  death- 
scene,  when  the  old  man,  despising  the  consolation  of 
the  Church,  though  in  the  last  agonies  of  death,  had 
not  been  able  to  turn  his  thoughts  from  his  former  sin- 
ful life — however  great  was  the  awe  that  then  fell  upon 
the  Chevalier,  yet  his  mind  was  thereby  led,  though 
how  he  could  not  explain,  to  dwell  more  keenly  upon 
play  than  ever  before,  so  that  every  night  in  his  dreams 
he  sat  at  the  faro-bank  and  heaped  up  riches  anew. 

“ In  proportion  as  Angela’s  behaviour  became  more 
constrained,  in  consequence  of  her  recollection  of  the 
character  in  which  she  had  first  seen  the  Chevalier, 
and  as  it  became  more  and  more  impossible  for  her  to 
continue  to  meet  him  upon  the  old  affectionate,  con- 


272 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


fidential  footing  upon  which  they  had  hitherto  lived, 
so  exactly  in  the  same  degree  distrust  of  Angela  crept 
into  the  Chevalier’s  mind,  since  he  ascribed  her  con- 
straint to  the  secret  which  had  once  disturbed  her 
peace  of  mind  and  which  had  not  been  revealed  to 
him.  From  this  distrust  were  born  displeasure  and 
unpleasantness,  and  these  he  expressed  in  various  ways 
which  hurt  Angela’s  feelings.  By  a singular  cross-ac- 
tion of  spiritual  influence  Angela’s  recollections  of  the 
unhappy  Duvernet  began  to  recur  to  her  mind  with 
fresher  force,  and  along  with  these  the  intolerable  con- 
sciousness of  her  ruined  love, — the  loveliest  blossom 
that  had  budded  in  her  youthful  heart.  The  strained 
relations  between  the  pair  continued  to  increase  until 
things  got  to  such  a pitch  that  the  Chevalier  grew  dis- 
gusted with  his  simple  mode  of  life,  thought  it  dull, 
and  was  smitten  with  a powerful  longing  to  enjoy  the 
life  of  the  world  again.  His  star  of  ill  omen  began  to 
acquire  the  ascendancy.  The  change  which  had  been 
inaugurated  by  displeasure  and  great  unpleasantness 
was  completed  by  an  abandoned  wretch  who  had  for- 
merly been  croupier  in  the  Chevalier’s  faro-bank.  He 
succeeded  by  means  of  the  most  artful  insinuations  and 
conversations  in  making  the  Chevalier  look  upon  his 
present  walk  of  life  as  childish  and  ridiculous.  The 
Chevalier  could  not  understand  at  last  how,  for  a 
woman’s  sake,  he  ever  came  to  leave  a world  which 
appeared  to  him  to  contain  all  that  made  life  of  any 
worth. 

“ It  was  not  long  ere  Chevalier  Menars’  rich  bank 
was  flourishing  more  magnificently  than  ever.  His 
good-luck  had  not  left  him  ; victim  after  victim  came 
and  fell ; he  amassed  heaps  of  riches.  But  Angela’s 
happiness^ — it  was  ruined — ruined  in  fearful  fashion  ; 
it  was  to  be  compared  to  a short  fair  dream.  The 


GAMBLER' S LUCK. 


273 


Chevalier  treated  her  with  indifference,  nay  even  with 
contempt.  Often,  for  weeks  and  months  together, 
shejtevei^-saw'hinT  once  ; the  household  arrangements 
were  placed  in  the  hands  of  a steward  ; the  servants 
were  being  constantly  changed  to  suit  the  Chevalier’s 
whims ; so  that  Angela,  a stranger  in  her  own  house, 
knew  not  where  to  turn  for  comfort.  Often  during 
her  sleepless  nights  the  Chevalier’s  carriage  stopped 
before  the  door,  the  heavy  strong-box  was  carried  up- 
stairs, the  Chevalier  flung  out  a few  harsh  monosyllabic 
words  of  command,  and  then  the  doors  of  his  distant 
room  were  sent  to  with  a bang — all  this  she  heard, 
and  a flood  of  bitter  tears  started  from  her  eyes.  Ina 
state  of  the  most  heart-rending  anguish  she  called  upon 
Duvernet  time  after  time,  and  implored  Providence 
to  put  an  end  to  her  miserable  life  of  trouble  and 
suffering. 

“ One  day  a young  man  of  good  family,  after  losing 
all  his  fortune  at  the  Chevalier's  bank,  sent  a bullet 
through  his  brain  in  the  gambling-house,  and  in  the 
very  same  room  even  in  which  the  bank  was  estab- 
lished, so  that  the  players  were  sprinkled  by  the  blood 
and  scattered  brains,  and  started  up  aghast.  The 
Chevalier  alone  preserved  his  indifference  ; and,  as  all 
were  preparing  to  leave  the  apartment,  he  asked 
whether  it  was  in  accordance  with  their  rules  and 
custom  to  leave  the  bank  before  the  appointed  hour 
on  account  of  a fool  who  had  had  no  conduct  in  his 
play. 

“ The  occurrence  created  a great  sensation.  The 
most  experienced  and  hardened  gamblers  were  indig- 
nant at  the  Chevalier’s  unexampled  behaviour.  The 
voice  of  the  public  was  raised  against  him.  The  bank 
was  closed  by  the  police.  He  was,  moreoverT^ccused 
of  false  play  ; and  his  unprecedented  good-luck  tended 
Vol.  II.— 18 


274 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


to  establish  the  truth  of  the  charge.  He  was  unable 
to  clear  himself.  The  fine  he  was  compelled  to  pay 
deprived  him  of  a considerable  part  of  his  riches.  He 
found  himself  disgraced  and  looked  upon  with  com 
tempt  ; then  he  went  back  to  the  arms  of  the  wife  he 
had  ill-used,  and  she  willingly  received  him,  the  peni- 
tent, since  the  remembrance  of  how  her  own  father  had 
turned  aside  from  the  demoralising  life  of  a gambler 
allowed  a glimmer  of  hope  to  rise,  that  the  Chevalier’s 
conversion  might  this  time,  now  that  he  was  older, 
really  have  some  stamina  in  it. 

“ The  Chevalier  left  Paris  along  with  his  wife,  and 
went  to  Genoa,  4alg©la:S"d3hrtfrplace.  Here  he  led  a 
very  retired  life  at  first.  But  all  endeavours  to  restore 
the  footing  of  quiet  domesticity  with  Angela,  which 
his  evil  genius  had  destroyed,  were  in  vain.  It  was 
not  long  before  his  deep-rooted  discontent  awoke  anew 
and  drove  him  out  of  the  house  in  a state  of  uneasy, 
unsettled  restlessness.  His  eviLreputation  had  followed 
him  from  Paris  to  Genoa  ; he  dare  not  venture  to  es- 
tablish a bank,  although  he  was  being  goaded  to  do  so 
by  a power  he  could  hardly  resist. 

“ At  that  time  the  richest  bank  in  Genoa  was  kept 
by  a French  colonel,  who  hacTbeen  invalided  owing  to 
serious  wounds.  His  heart  burning  with  envy  and 
fierce  hatred,  the  Chevalier  appeared  at  the  Colonel’s 
table,  expecting  that  his  usual  good  fortune  would 
stand  by  him,  and  that  he  should  soon  ruin  his  rival. 
The  Colonel  greeted  him  in  a merr)'  humour,  such  as 
was  in  general  not  customary  with  him,  and  said  that 
now  the  play  would  really  be  worth  indulging  in  since 
they  had  got  Chevalier  Menars  and  his  good-luck  to 
join  them,  for  now  would  come  the  struggle  which 
alone  made  the  game  interesting. 

“And  in  fact  during  the  first  faille  the  cards  fell  fa- 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


275 


vourable  to  the  Chevalier  as  they  always  had  done.  But 
when,  relying  upon  his  invincible  luck,  he  at  last  cried 
‘ Va  banque 1 Jie  lyst.a  very  considerable  sum  at  one 
stroke. 

The  Colonel,  at  other  times  preserving  the  same 
even  temperament  whether  winning  or  losing,  now 
swept  the  money  towards  him  with  the  most  demon- 
strative signs  of  extreme  delight.  From  this  moment 
fortune  turned  away  from  the.  Chevalier  utterly  and 
completely.  He  played  every  night,  and  every  night 
he  lost,  until  his  property  had  melted  away  to  a few 
thousand  ducats,2  which  he  still  had  in  securities. 

“ The  Chevalier  had  spent  the  whole  day  in  running 
about  to  get  his  securities  converted  into  ready  money, 
and  did  not  reach  home  until  late  in  the  evening.  So 
soon  as  it  was  fully  night,  he  was  about  to  leave  the 
house  with  his  last  gold  pieces  in  his  pocket,  when  An- 
gela, who  suspected  pretty  much  how  matters  stood, 
stepped  in  his  path  and  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  whilst 
a flood  of  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes,  beseeching  him 
by  the  Virgin  and  all  the  saints  to  abandon  his  wicked 
purpose,  and  not  to  plunge  her  in  want  and  misery. 

“ He  raised  her  up  and  strained  her  to  his  heart  with 
painful  passionate  intensity,  saying  in  a hoarse  voice, 
: Angela,  my  dear  sweet  Angela  ! It  can’t  be  helped  now, 
indeed  it  must  be  so  ; I must  go  on  with  it,  for  I can’t 
let  it  alone.  But  to-morrow — to-morrow  all  your  troubles 
shall  be  over,  for  by  the  Eternal  Destiny  that  rules  over 
us  I swear  that  to-day  shall  be  the  last  time  I will  play. 
Quiet  yourself,  my  dear  good  child — go  and  sleep — 
dream  of  happy  days  to  come,  of  a better  life  that  is  in 

1 “ Va  bout"  or  “ Va  banque"  meant  a challenge  to  the  bank  to  the 
full  amount  of  the  highest  limit  of  play,  and  if  the  punter  won  he 
virtually  broke  the  bank. 

8 See  note,  page  98,  Vol.  I. 


276 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


store  for  you  ; that  will  bring  good-luck.  Herewith  he 
kissed  his  wife  and  hurried  off  before  she  could  stop  him. 

“ Two  tailles,  and  the  Chevalier  had  ln.st.all — all.  He 
stood  beside  the  Colonel,  staring  upon  the  faro-table  in 
moody  senselessness. 

“ ‘ Are  you  not  punting  any  more,  Chevalier  ? ’ said 
the  Colonel,  shuffling  the  cards  for  a new  taille.  ‘ I have 
lost  all,’  replied  the  Chevalier,  forcing  himself  with  an 
effort  to  be  calm. 

“ ‘ Have  you  really  nothing  left  ? ’ asked  the  Colonel 
at  the  next  taille. 

“ ‘ I am  a beggar,’  cried  the  Chevalier,  his  voice 
trembling  with  rage  and  mortification  ; and  he  contin- 
ued to  stare  fiercely  upon  the  table  without  observing 
that  the  players  were  gaining  more  and  more  advan- 
tages over  the  banker. 

“ The  Colonel  went  on  playing  quietly.  But  whilst 
shuffling  the  cards  for  the  following  taille , he  said  in  a 
low  voice,  without  looking  at  the  Chevalier,  VBu L_you 
have  a beautiful  wife.’ 

“ ‘What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?’  burst  out  the  Cheva- 
lier angrily.  The  Colonel  drew  his  cards  without  mak- 
ing any  answer. 

‘“Ten  thousand  ducats  or — Angela !’ said  the  Col- 
onel, half  turning  round  whilsFTTFe  cards  were  being 
cut. 

“‘You  are  mad!’  exclaimed  the  Chevalier,  who 
now  began  to  observe  on  coming  more  to  himself  that 
the  Colonel  continuallv  lost  and  lost  again. 

“ ‘ Twenty  thousand  ducats  against  Angela  ! ’ said 
the  Colonel  in  a low  voice,  pausing  for  a moment  in 
his  shuffling  of  the  cards. 

“ The  Chevalier  did  not  reply.  The  Colonel  went 
on  playing,  and  almost  all  the  cards  fell  to  the  players' 
side. 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


2 77 


“ ‘ Taken  ! ’ whispered  the  Chevalier  in  the  Colonel’s 
ear,  as  the  new  taille  began,  and  he  pushed  the  queen 
on  the  table. 

“ In  the  next  draw  the  queen  had  lost.  The  Cheva- 
lier drew  back  from  the  table,  grinding  his  teeth,  and 
in  despair  stood  leaning  in  a window,  his  face  deathly 
pale. 

“Play  was  over.  ‘Well,  and  what’s  to  be  done 
now  ? ’ were  the  Colonel’s  mocking  words  as  he 
stepped  up  to  the  Chevalier. 

“‘Ah!’  cried  the  Chevalier,  quite  beside  himself, 
‘ you  have  made  me  a beggar,  but  you  must  be  insane 
to  imagine  that  you  could  win  my  wife.  Are  we  on 
the  islands  ? is  my  wife  a slave,  exposed  as  a mere 
thing  to  the  brutal  arbitrariness  of  a reprobate  man, 
that  he  may  trade  with  her,  gamble  with  her  ? But  it 
is  true  ! You  would  have  had  to  pay  twenty  thousand 
ducats  if  the  queen  had  won,  and  so  I have  lost  all 
right  to  raise  a protest  if  my  wife  is  willing  to  leave 
me  to  follow  you.  Come  along  with  me,  and  despair 
when  you  see  how  my  wife  will  repel  you  with  detesta- 
tion when  you  propose  to  her  that  she  shall  follow  you 
as  your  shameless  mistress.’ 

“ ‘You  will  be  the  one  to  despair,’  replied  the 
Colonel,  with  a mocking,  scornful  laugh  ; ‘ you  will 
be  the  one  to  despair,  Chevalier,  when  Angela  turns 
with  abhorrence  from  you— you,  the  abandoned  sinner, 
who  have  made  her  life  miserable — and  flies  into  my 
arms  in  rapture  and  delight  ; you  will  be  the  one  to 
despair  when  you  learn  that  we  have  been  united  by 
the  blessing  of  the  Church,  and  that  our  dearest  wishes 
are  crowned  with  happiness.  You  call  me  insane. 
Ho  ! ho  ! All  I wanted  to  win  was  the  right  to  claim 
her,  for  of  Angela  herself  I am  sure.  Ho  ! ho  ! Che- 
valier, let  me  inform  you  that  your  wife  loves  me — 


278 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


me , with  unspeakable  love  : let  me  inform  you  that  I 
am  that  Duvernet,  the  neighbour’s  son,  who  was 
brought  up  along  with  Angela,  bound  to  her  by  ties  of 
the  most  ardent  affection — he  whom  you  drove  away 
by  means  of  your  diabolical  devices.  Ah  ! it  was  not 
until  I had  to  go  away  to  the  wars  that  Angela  became 
conscious  to  herself  of  what  I was  to  her  ; I know  all. 
It  was  too  late.  The  Spirit  of  Evil  suggested  to  me 
the  idea  that  I might  ruin  you  in  play,  and  so  I took 
togambling— followed  you  to  Genoa, — and  now  I have 
succeeded.  Away  now  to  your  wife.’ 

“The  Chevalier  was  almost  annihilated,  like  one 
upon  whose  head  had  fallen  the  most  disastrous  blows 
of  fortune.  Now  he  saw  to  the  bottom  of  that  myste- 
rious secret,  now  he  saw  for  the  first  time  the  full 
extent  of  the  misfortune  which  he  had  brought  upon 
poor  Angela.  ‘ Angela,  my  wife,  shall  decide,’  he  said 
hoarsely,  and  followed  the  Colonel,  who  was  hurrying 
off  at  full  speed. 

“ On  reaching  the  house  the  Colonel  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  latch  of  Angela's  chamber  ; but  the  Chevalier 
pushed  him  back,  saying,  ‘ My  wife  is  asleep.  Do  you 
want  to  rouse  her  up  out  of  her  sweet  sleep  ? ’ 

“ ‘ Hm  ! ’ replied  the  Colonel.  ‘ Has  Angela  ever 
enjoyed  sweet  sleep  since  you  brought  all  this  name- 
less misery  upon  her  ? ’ Again  the  Colonel  attempted 
to  enter  the  chamber  ; but  the  Chevalier  threw  himself 
at  his  feet  and  screamed,  frantic  with  despair,  ‘ Be  mer- 
ciful. Let  me  keep  my  wife  ; you  have  made  me  a 
beggar,  but  let  me  keep  my  wife.’ 

“ ‘ That’s  how  old  Vertua  lay  at  your  feet,  you  mis- 
creant dead  to  all  feeling,  and  could  not  move  your 
stony  heart  ; may  Heaven’s  vengeance  overtake  you 
for  it.’  Thus  spoke  the  Colonel  ; and  he  again  strode 
towards  Angela’s  chamber. 


GAMBLER'S  LUCK. 


279 


“ The  Chevalier  sprang  towards  the  door,  tore  it 
open,  rushed  to  the  bed  in  which  his  wife  lay,  and 
drew  back  the  curtains,  crying,  ‘ Angela  ! Angela  ! ’ 
Bending  over  her,  he  grasped  her  hand  ; but  all  at 
once  he  shook  and  trembled  in  mortal  anguish  and 
cried  in  a thundering  voice,  ‘Look!  look  ! you  have 
won-my-wife’s  corpse.’ 

“ Perfectly  horrified,  the  Colonel  approached  the 
bed  ; no  sign  of  life  ! — Angela  was  dead — dead. 

“ Then  the  Colonel  doubled  his  fist  and  shook  it 
heavenwards,  and  rushed  out  of  the  room  uttering  a 
fearful  cry.  Nothing  more  was  ever  heard  of  him.” 

This  was  the  end  of  the  stranger’s  tale  ; and  the 
Baron  was  so  shaken  that  before  he  could  say  anything 
the  stranger  had  hastily  risen  from  the  seat  and  gone 
away. 

A few  days  later  th.e__  stranger  was  found  in  his  room 
suffering  from  apoplexy  of  the  nerves.  He  never 
opened  his  mouth  up  to  the  moment  of  his  death, 
which  ensued  after  the  lapse  of  a few  hours.  His 
papers  proved  that,  though  he  called  himself  Baudasson 
simply,  he  was  no  less  a person  than  the  unhappy 
Chevalier  Menars  himself. 

The  Baron  recognised  it  as  a warning  from  Heaven, 
that  Chevalier  Menars  had  been  led  across  his  path  to 
save  him  just  as  he  was  approaching  the  brink  of  the 
precipice  ; he  vowed  that  he  would  withstand  all  the 
seductions  of  the  gambler’s  deceptive  luck. 

Up  till  now  he  has  faithfully  kept  his  word. 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT.1 


T the  time  when  people  in  the  beautiful  and  plea- 


sant town  of  Bamberg  lived,  according  to  the 
well-known  saying,  well,  i.e.,  under  the  crook,  namely 
in  the  end  of  the  previous  century,  there  was  also  one 
inhabitant,  a man  belonging  to  the  burgher  class,  who 
might  be  called  in  every  respect  both  singular  and 
eminent.  His  name  was  Johannes  Wacht,  and  his  trade 
was  that  of  a carpenter. 

Nature,  in  weighing  and  definitely  determining  her 
children’s  destinies,  pursues  her  own  dark  inscrutable 
path  ; and  all  that  is  claimed  by  convenience,  and  by 
the  opinions  and  considerations  which  prevail  in  man’s 
narrow  existence,  as  determining  factors  in  settling  the 
true  tendency  of  every  man’s  self,  Nature  regards  as 
nothing  more  than  the  pert  play  of  deluded  children 
imagining  themselves  to  be  wise.  But  short-sighted 
man  often  finds  an  insuperable  irony  in  the  contra- 
diction between  the  conviction  of  his  own  mind  and 
the  mysterious  ordering  of  this  inscrutable  Power, 
who  first  nourished  and  fed  him  at  her  maternal  bosom 
and  then  deserted  him  ; and  this  irony  fills  him  with 
terror  and  awe,  since  it  threatens  to  annihilate  his  own 
self. 

1 Included  in  a collection  of  stories  entitled  Geschichten , Märchen, 
und  Sagen,  Von  Fr.  H.  v.  d.  Hagen,  E.  T.  A.  Hoffmann,  und  H. 
Steffens;  Breslau,  1823. 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


281 

The  mother  of  Life  does  not  choose  for  her  favourites 
either  the  palaces  of  the  great  or  the  state-apartments 
of  princes.  And  so  she  made  our  Johannes,  who,  as 
the  kindly  reader  will  soon  learn,  might  be  called  one 
of  her  most  richly  endowed  favourites,  first  see  the  light 
of  the  world  on  a wretched  heap  of  straw,  in  the  work- 
shop of  an  impoverished  master  turner  in  Augsburg. 
His  mother  died  of  want  and  from  suffering  soon  after 
the  child’s  birth,  and  his  father  followed  her  after  the 
lapse  of  a few  months. 

The  town  government  had  to  take  charge  of  the 
helpless  boy  ; and  when  the  Council’s  master  carpenter, 
a well-to-do,  respectable  man,  who  found  in  the  child’s 
face,  notwithstanding  that  it  was  pinched  with  hunger, 
certain  traits  which  pleased  him, — when  he  would  not 
suffer  the  boy  to  be  lodged  in  a public  institution,  but 
took  him  into  his  own  house,  in  order  to  bring  him  up 
along  with  his  own  children,  then  there  dawned  upon 
Johannes  his  first  genial  ray  of  sunshine,  heralding  a 
happier  lot  in  the  future. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  the  boy’s  frame 
developed,  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  the 
little  insignificant  creature  in  the  cradle  had  really 
been  the  shapeless  colourless  chrysalis  out  of  which 
this  pretty,  living,  golden-locked  boy  had  proceeded, 
like  a beautiful  butterfly.  But — what  seemed  of  more 
importance — along  with  this  pleasing  grace  of  physical 
form  the  boy  soon  displayed  such  eminent  intellectual 
faculties  as  astonished  both  his  foster-father  and  his 
teachers.  Johannes  grew  up  in  a workshop  which  sent 
forth  some  of  the  best  and  highest  work  that  mechan- 
ical skill  was  able  to  produce,  since  the  master  carpen- 
ter to  the  Council  was  constantly  engaged  upon  the 
most  important  buildings.  No  wonder,  therefore,  that 
the  child’s  mind,  which  caught  up  everything  with 


282 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


such  keen  clear  perception,  should  be  excited  thereby, 
and  should  feel  all  his  heart  drawn  towards  a trade  the 
deeper  significance  of  which,  in  so  far  as  it  was  con- 
cerned with  the  material  creation  of  great  and  bold 
ideas,  he  dimly  felt  deep  down  in  his  soul.  The  joy 
that  this  bent  of  the  orphan’s  mind  occasioned  his 
foster-father  may  well  be  conceived  ; and  hence  he  felt 
persuaded  to  teach  the  boy  all  practical  matters  himself 
with  great  care  and  attention,  and  furthermore,  when 
he  had  grown  into  a youth,  to  have  him  instructed  by 
the  cleverest  masters  in  all  the  higher  branches  of 
knowledge  connected  with  the  trade,  both  theoretical 
and  practical,  such  as,  for  instance,  drawing,  architec- 
ture, mechanics,  &c. 

Our  Johannes  was  four  and  twenty  years  of  age 
when  the  old  master  carpenter  died  ; and  even  at  that 
time  his  foster-son  was  a thoroughly  experienced  and 
skilful  journeyman  in  all  branches  of  his  craft,  whose 
equal  could  not  be  found  far  and  near.  At  this  period 
Johannes  set  out,  along  with  his  true  and  faithful  com- 
rade Engelbrecht,  on  the  usual  journeyman’s  1 travels. 

Herewith  you  know,  indulgent  reader,  all  that  it  is 
needful  to  know  about  the  youth  of  our  worthy  Wacht ; 
and  it  only  remains  to  tell  you  in  a few  words  how  it 
was  that  he  came  to  settle  in  Bamberg  and  how  he  be- 
came master  there. 

After  being  on  the  travel  for  a pretty  long  time  he 
happened  to  arrive  at  Bamberg  on  his  way  home  along 
with  his  comrade  Engelbrecht ; and  there  they  found 
the  Bishop’s  palace  undergoing  thorough  repair,  and 
particularly  on  that  side  of  it  where  the  walls  rose  up 
to  a great  height  out  of  a very  narrow  alley  or  court. 
Here  an  entirely  new  roof  was  to  be  put  up,  of  very 


1 See  note  p.  81,  Vol.  IL 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


283 


great  and  very  heavy  beams  ; and  they  wanted  a machine, 
which,  whilst  taking  up  the  least  possible  room,  would 
possess  sufficient  concentration  of  power  to  raise  the 
heavy  weights  up  to  the  required  height.  The  Prince- 
bishop’s  builder,  who  knew  how  to  calculate  to  a nicety 
how  Trajan’s  Column  in  Rome  had  been  made  to  stand, 
and  also  knew  the  hundred  or  more  mistakes  that  had 
been  made  which  he  should  never  have  laid  himself 
open  to  the  reproach  of  committing,  had  indeed  con- 
structed a machine — a sort  of  crane — which  was  very 
nice  to  look  at,  and  was  praised  by  everybody  as  a 
masterpiece  of  mechanical  skill  ; but  when  the  men 
tried  to  set  the  thing  agoing,  it  turned  out  that  the 
Herr  builder  had  calculated  upon  downright  Samsons 
and  Herculeses.  The  wheels  creaked  and  squeaked 
horribly  ; the  huge  beams  which  were  hooked  on  to  the 
crane  did  not  budge  an  inch ; the  men  declared,  whilst 
shaking  the  sweat  from  their  brows,  that  they  would 
much  sooner  carry  ships’  mainmasts  up  steep  stairs 
than  strain  themselves  in  this  way,  and  waste  all  their 
best  strength  in  vain  over  such  a machine  ; and  there 
matters  remained. 

Standing  at  some  distance,  Wacht  and  Engelbrecht 
looked  on  at  what  they  wTere  doing,  or  rather,  not  doing  ; 
and  it  is  possible  that  Wacht  may  have  smiled  just  a 
little  at  the  builder’s  want  of  knowledge. 

A grey-headed  old  foreman,  recognising  the  strangers’ 
handicraft  from  their  clothing,  stepped  up  to  them  with- 
out more  ado,  and  asked  Wacht  if  he  understood  how 
to  manage  the  machine  any  better  since  he  looked  so 
cunning  about  it.  “Ah,  well!”  replied  Wacht,  with- 
out being  in  the  least  disconcerted,  “ ah  well ; it’s  a 
doubtful  point  whether  I know  better,  for  every  fool 
thinks  he  understands  everything  better  than  anybody 
else  ; but  I can’t  help  wTondering  that  in  this  part  of 


284 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


the  country  you  don’t  seem  to  be  acquainted  with  a 
certain  simple  contrivance,  which  would  easily  perform 
all  that  the  Herr  Builder  yonder  is  vainly  tormenting 
his  men  to  accomplish.” 

The  young  man’s  bold  answer  nettled  the  grey- 
haired old  foreman  not  a little  ; he  turned  away 
muttering  to  himself  ; and  very  soon  it  was  known  to 
them  all  that  a young  stranger,  a carpenter’s  jour- 
neyman, had  laughed  the  builder  together  with  his 
machine  to  scorn,  and  boasted  that  he  was  acquainted 
with  a more  serviceable  contrivance.  As  is  usually 
the  case,  nobody  paid  any  heed  to  it  ; but  the  worthy 
builder  as  well  as  the  honourable  guild  of  carpenters 
in  Bamberg  were  of  opinion  that  the  stranger  had  not, 
it  was  to  be  presumed,  devoured  up  all  the  wisdom  of 
the  world,  nor  would  he  presume  to  dictate  to  and 
teach  old  and  experienced  masters.  “ Now  do  you  see, 
Johannes,”  said  Engelbrecht  to  his  comrade,  “now  do 
you  see  how  your  rash  boldness  has  again  provoked 
against  you  the  people  whom  we  must  meet  as  com- 
rades of  the  craft  ? ” 

“Who  can,  who  may  look  on  quietly,”  replied  Jo- 
hannes, whilst  his  eyes  flashed,  “when  the  poor  labour- 
ers— I’m  sure  they’re  to  be  pitied — are  tormented  so 
and  made  to  work  beyond  all  reason,  and  that  all  to 
no  purpose.  And  who  knows  whether  my  rash  bold- 
ness may  not,  after  all,  have  beneficial  consequences?” 
And  it  really  turned  out  to  be  so. 

One  single  individual,  of  such  pre-eminent  intel- 
lectual capacity  that  no  gleam  of  knowledge,  however 
fugitive  it  might  be,  ever  escaped  his  keen  penetration, 
attached  a quite  different  importance  to  the  youth’s 
words  from  what  the  rest  did,  for  the  builder  had 
reported  them  to  him  as  the  presumptuous  saying  of  a 
young  fledgling  carpenter.  This  man  was  the  Prince- 


MASTE R JOHANNES  WACHT. 


285 


bishop  himself.  He  had  the  young  man  summoned  to 
his  presence,  that  he  might  inquire  further  into  the 
import  of  his  words,  and  was  not  a little  astonished 
both  at  his  appearance  and  at  his  general  bearing 
and  character.  My  kindly  reader  ought  to  know 
what  this  astonishment  was  due  to,  and  now  is  the 
time  to  tell  him  something  more  about  Johannes 
Wacht’s  exterior  and  Johannes  Wacht’s  mind  and 
thoughts. 

As  far  as  his  face  and  figure  were  concerned,  he 
might  justly  be  called  a remarkably  handsome  young 
fellow,  and  yet  his  noble  features  and  majestic  stature 
did  not  attain  to  full  perfection  until  after  he  had 
reached  a riper  manhood.  ^Esthetic  canons  of  the  ca- 
thedral credited  Johannes  with  having  the  head  of  an 
old  Roman  ; a younger  member  of  the  same  fraternity, 
who  even  in  the  severest  winter  was  in  the  habit  of 
going  about  dressed  in  black  silk,  and  who  had  read 
Schiller's  Fiesko,  maintained,  on  the  contrary,  that  Jo- 
hannes Wacht  was  Verrina1  in  the  flesh. 

But  the  mysterious  charm  by  means  of  which  many 
highly-gifted  men  are  enabled  to  win  at  once  the  con- 
fidence of  those  whom  they  approach  does  not  consist 
in  beauty  and  grace  of  external  form  alone.  We  in 
a certain  sense  feel  their  superiority  ; yet  this  feeling 
is  by  no  means  an  oppressive  feeling  as  might  be 
imagined ; but,  whilst  elevating  the  spirit,  it  also 
excites  a certain  kind  of  mental  comfort  that  does  us 
an  incalculable  amount  of  good.  All  the  factors  of 
the  physical  and  intellectual  organism  are  united  into 
a whole  by  the  most  perfect  harmony,  so  that  the 
contact  with  the  superior  soul  is  like  a pure  strain  of 

1 The  stern  inexorable  Republican  patriot,  who  kills  even  his  friend 
Fiesco  when  the  latter  refuses  to  throw  aside  the  purple  dignity  he  had 
assumed.  See  Schiller’s  Fiesko , act  v.,  last  scene  (cf.  I.  10-13  ; III.  1). 


286 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


music  ; it  suffers  no  discord.  This  harmony  creates 
that  inimitable  deportment,  that — one  might  almost 
say — comfort  in  the  slightest  movements,  through 
which  the  consciousness  of  true  human  dignity  is 
proclaimed.  This  deportment  can  be  taught  by  no 
dancing-master,  by  no  Prince’s  tutor  ; and  well  and 
rightly  does  it  deserve  its  proper  name  of  the  dis- 
tinguished deportment,  since  it  is  stamped  as  such 
by  Nature  herself.  Here  need  only  be  added  that 
Master  Wacht,  unflinchingly  constant  in  generosity, 
truth,  and  faithfulness  to  his  burgher  standing,  became 
as  the  years  went  on  ever  more  a man  of  the  people. 
He  developed  all  the  virtues,  but  at  the  same  time  all 
the  unconquerable  prejudices,  which  are  generally  wont 
to  form  the  unfavourable  sides  of  such  men’s  charac- 
ters. My  kindly  reader  will  soon  learn  of  what  these 
prejudices  consisted. 

I have  now  perhaps  sufficiently  explained  why  it  was 
that  the  young  man’s  appearance  made  such  an  un- 
common impression  upon  the  respected  Prince-bishop. 
For  a long  time  he  observed  the  stalwart  young  work- 
man in  silence,  but  with  visible  satisfaction  ; then  he 
questioned  him  about  his  previous  life.  Johannes 
answered  all  his  questions  candidly  and  modestly,  and 
finally  explained  to  the  Prince  with  convincing  clear- 
ness, that  the  master-builder’s  machine,  though  per- 
haps fitted  for  other  purposes,  would  in  the  present 
case  never  effect  what  it  was  intended  to  do. 

In  reply  to  the  Prince’s  inquiry  whether  he  could 
indeed  trust  himself  to  specify  a machine  that  would 
be  more  suitable  for  the  purpose,  namely,  to  raise  the 
heavy  weights,  the  young  man  replied  that  all  he  re- 
quired to  construct  such  a machine  was  a single  day, 
and  the  help  of  his  comrade  Engelbrecht  and  a few 
skilful  and  willing  labourers. 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


287 


It  may  be  conceived  with  what  malicious  and  mis- 
chievous inward  joy,  and  with  what  impatience  the 
master-builder,  and  all  who  were  connected  with  him, 
looked  forward  to  the  morrow,  when  the  forward 
stranger  would  be  sent  off  home  covered  with  shame 
and  ridicule.  But  things  turned  out  different  from 
what  these  good-hearted  people  had  expected,  or  in- 
deed had  wished. 

Three  capsterns  suitably  situated  and  so  arranged  as 
to  exert  an  effect  one  upon  another,  and  each  only 
manned  by  eight  labourers,  elevated  the  heavy  beams 
up  to  the  giddy  level  of  the  roof  with  so  much  ease 
that  they  appeared  to  dance  in  the  air.  From  this 
moment  the  brave  clever  craftsman  could  date  the 
foundation  of  his  reputation  in  Bamberg.  The  Prince 
urged  him  seriously  to  stay  in  that  town  and  secure 
his  mastership  ; towards  the  attainment  of  this  end 
he  would  lend  him  all  the  assistance  he  possibly  could. 
Wacht,  however,  hesitated,  notwithstanding  that  he 
was  very  well  pleased  with  the  pleasant  and  cheap 
town  of  Bamberg.  The  fact  that  several  important 
buildings  were  just  then  in  course  of  erection  put  a 
heavy  weight  into  the  scale  for  staying  ; but  the  final 
turn  to  the  balance  was  given  by  a circumstance  which 
is  very  often  wont  to  decide  matters  in  life  ; namely, 
Johannes  Wacht  found  again  quite  unexpectedly  in 
Bamberg  the  beautiful  virtuous  maiden  whom  he  had 
seen  several  years  previously  in  Erlangen,  and  into 
whose  friendly  blue  eyes  he  had  then  peeped  a little 
too  much.  In  a few  words,  Johannes  Wacht  became 
master,  married  the  virtuous  maiden  of  Erlangen,  and 
soon  contrived  through  industry  and  skill  to  purchase 
a pretty  house  on  the  Kaulberg,1  which  had  a large 


1 A long  hilly  street  in  Bamberg. 


288 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


tract  of  garden  ground  stretching  away  back  up  the 
hill,  and  there  he  settled  down  for  life. 

But  upon  whom  does  the  friendly  star  of  good 
fortune  shine  unchangeably  with  the  same  degree  of 
splendour  at  all  times  ? Providence  had  decreed  that 
our  honest  Johannes  should  be  submitted  to  a trial 
under  which  perhaps  any  other  man,  with  less  firmness 
of  spirit,  would  have  sunk.  The  first  fruit  of  this  very 
happy  marriage  was  a son,  an  excellent  youth,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  walking  steadfastly  in  his  father’s  foot- 
steps. He  was  eighteen  years  of  age  when  one  night  a 
large  fire  broke  out  not  far  from  Wacht’s  house.  Father 
and  son  hurried  to  the  spot,  agreeably  to  their  calling, 
to  help  in  extinguishing  the  flames.  Along  with  other 
carpenters  the  son  boldly  clambered  up  to  the  roof  in 
order  to  cut  away  its  burning  framework,  as  far  as 
could  be  done.  His  father,  who  had  remained  below, 
as  he  always  did,  to  direct  the  demolition  of  walls,  &c., 
and  to  superintend  the  work  of  extinction,  looked  up 
and  seeing  the  imminent  danger  shouted,  “ Johannes  ! 
men!  come  down!  come  down!”  Too  late — with  a 
fearful  crash  the  wall  fell  in  ; the  son  lay  struck  to 
death  in  the  flames,  which  leapt  up  crackling  louder 
as  if  in  horrid  triumph. 

But  this  terrible  blow  was  not  the  only  one  which 
was  to  fall  upon  poor  Johannes.  An  inconsiderate 
maid-servant  burst  with  a frantic  cry  of  distress  into 
her  mistress’  room,  who  was  only  partly  convalescent 
from  a distracting  nervous  disorder,  and  was  in  great 
uneasiness  and  anxiety  about  the  fire,  the  dark-red  re- 
flection of  which  was  flickering  on  the  walls  of  her 
chamber.  “Your  son,  your  Johannes,  is  killed;  the 
wall  has  buried  him  and  his  comrades  in  the  middle  of 
the  flames,”  screamed  the  girl.  As  though  stung  with 
sharp,  sudden  pain,  her  mistress  raised  herself  up  in 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


289 


the  bed  ; but  breathing  out  a deep  sigh,  she  sank  back 
upon  the  cushions  again.  She  was  struck  with  paral- 
ysis of  the  nerves ; she  was  dead. 

“ Now  let  us  see,”  said  the  citizens,  “ how  Master 
Wacht  will  bear  his  great  trouble.  He  has  often 
enough  preached  to  us  that  a man  ought  not  to  suc- 
cumb to  the  greatest  misfortune,  but  ought  to  bear 
his  head  erect  and  strive  with  the  strength  which  the 
Creator  has  planted  in  every  man’s  brea'st  to  with- 
stand the  misery  that  threatens  him,  so  long  as  the 
contrary  is  not  evidently  decreed  in  the  Eternal  coun- 
sels. Let  us  see  now  what  sort  of  an  example  he  will 
give  us.” 

They  were  not  a little  astonished  when,  although  the 
master  himself  was  not  seen  in  the  workshop,  yet  his 
journeymen’s  activity  continued  without  interruption, 
so  that  work  never  stood  still  for  a single  moment,  but 
went  on  just  as  if  the  master  had  not  experienced  any 
trouble. 

With  steadfast  courage  and  firm  step,  and  with  his 
face  shining  with  all  the  consolation  and  all  the  hope 
that  sprang  from  his  belief — the  true  religion  rooted 
deep  down  in  his  breast — he  had  followed  the  corpses 
of  his  wife  and  son  ; and  on  the  noon  of  the  same  day 
after  the  funeral,  which  had  taken  place  in  the  morn- 
ing, he  said  to  Engelbrecht,  “ Engelbrecht,  it  is  now 
necessary  for  me  to  be  alone  with  my  grief,  which  is 
almost  breaking  my  heart,  in  order  that  I may  become 
acquainted  with  it  and  strengthen  myself  against  it. 
You,  brother,  my  honest,  industrious  foreman,  will 
know  what  to  do  for  a week  ; for  that  space  I am  go- 
ing to  shut  myself  up  in  my  own  chamber.” 

And  indeed  for  a whole  week  Master  Wacht  never 
left  his  room.  The  maid  frequently  brought  down  his 
food  again  untouched ; and  they  often  heard  in  the  pas- 
Vol.  II. — 19 


290 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


sage  his  low,  sad  cry,  cutting  them  to  the  quick,  “ O 
my  wife  ! O my  Johannes  !” 

Many  of  Wacht’s  acquaintances  were  of  opinion  that 
he  ought  not  by  any  means  to  be  left  in  this  solitary 
state  ; by  brooding  constantly  over  his  grief  his  mind 
might  become  unsettled.  Engelbrecht,  however,  met 
them  with  the  reply,  “ Let  him  alone  ; you  don’t  know 
tny  Johannes.  Since  Providence,  in  its  inscrutable 
purposes,  has  sent  him  this  hard  trial,  it  has  also  given 
him  strength  to  overcome  it,  and  all  earthly  consolation 
would  only  outrage  his  feelings.  I know  in  what  man- 
ner he  is  working  his  way  out  of  his  deep  grief.”  These 
last  words  Engelbrecht  uttered  with  a well-nigh  cun- 
ning look  upon  his  face  ; but  he  would  not  give  any 
further  information  as  to  what  he  meant.  Wacht’s  ac- 
quaintances had  to  content  themselves,  and  leave  the 
unfortunate  man  in  peace. 

A week  was  passed,  and  earl}’  the  next  morning, 
which  was  a bright  summer  morning,  at  five  o’clock 
Master  Wacht  came  out  unexpectedly  into  the  work- 
yard  amongst  his  journeymen,  who  were  all  hard  at 
work.  Their  axes  and  saws  stopped,  whilst  they  greeted 
him  with  a half-sorrowful  cry,  “ Master  Wacht ! Our 
good  Master  Wacht ! ” 

With  a cheerful  face,  upon  which  the  traces  of  the 
struggle  against  grief  which  he  had  gone  through  had 
deepened  the  expression  of  sterling  good-nature  and 
given  it  a most  touching  character,  he  stepped  amongst 
his  faithful  workpeople  and  told  them  how  the  good- 
ness of  Heaven  had  sent  down  the  spirit  of  mercy  and 
consolation  upon  him,  and  that  he  was  now  filled  with 
strength  and  courage  to  go  on  and  discharge  the  duties 
of  his  calling.  He  betook  himself  to  the  building  in  the 
middle  of  the  yard,  which  served  for  the  storage  of  the 
tools  at  night,  and  for  keeping  the  plans  and  memo- 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


291 


randa  of  work,  &c.  Englebrecht,  the  journeymen,  the 
apprentices,  followed  him  in  a string.  On  entering, 
Johannes  stood  rooted  to  the  spot. 

His  poor  boy’s  axe,  which  was  identified  by  certain 
distinctive  marks,  had  been  found  with  half-charred 
handle  under  the  ruins  of  the  house  that  had  been 
burnt  down.  His  companions  had  fastened  it  high  up 
on  the  wall  directly  opposite  the  door,  and,  in  a rather 
rude  attempt  at  art,  had  painted  round  it  a wreath  of 
roses  and  cypress-branches  ; and  underneath  the  wreath 
they  had  placed  their  beloved  comrade’s  name,  together 
wdth  the  year  of  his  birth  and  the  date  of  the  ill-omened 
night  when  he  had  met  such  a violent  death. 

“ Poor  Hans  ! ” 1 exclaimed  Master  Wacht  on  per- 
ceiving this  touching  monument  of  the  true  faithful 
spirits,  whilst  a flood  of  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes. 
“ Poor  Hans  ! the  last  time  you  wielded  that  tool  was 
for  the  welfare  of  your  brothers  ; but  now  you  are  rest- 
ing in  your  grave,  and  will  never  more  stand  by  my 
side  and  use  your  earnest  industry  in  helping  to  for- 
ward a good  piece  of  work.” 

Then  Master  Wacht  went  round  the  circle  and  gave 
each  journeyman  and  each  apprentice  a good  honest 
shake  of  the  hand,  saying,  “ Think  of  him.”  Then 
they  all  went  back  to  their  work,  except  Engelbrecht, 
whom  Wacht  bid  stay  with  him. 

“See  here,  my  old  comrade,”  cried  Wacht,  “what 
extraordinary  means  the  Eternal  Power  has  chosen  to 
help  me  to  overcome  my  great  trouble.  During  the 
days  when  I was  almost  heart-broken  with  grief  for 
my  wife  and  child,  whom  I have  lost  in  such  a terrible 
way,  there  came  into  my  mind  the  idea  of  a highly 
artistic  and  complicated  trussed  girder,  which  I had 


1 Pet  name  for  Johannes,  the  name  of  Wacht’s  son. 


292 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


been  thinking  about  for  a long  time  without  ever  being 
able  to  see  my  way  to  the  thing  clearly.  Look  here.” 

Therewith  Master  Wacht  unrolled  the  drawing  at 
which  he  had  worked  during  the  past  week,  and  Engel- 
brecht  was  greatly  astonished  at  the  boldness  and  orig- 
inality of  the  invention  no  less  than  at  its  exceptional 
neatness  in  the  finished  state.  The  mechanical  part  of 
the  contrivance  was  so  skilfully  and  cleverly  arranged 
that  even  Engelbrecht,  with  all  his  great  experience, 
could  not  comprehend  it  at  once  ; but  the  greater  there- 
fore was  his  glad  admiration  when  Master  Wacht  ex- 
plained to  him  the  whole  construction  down  to  the 
minutest  details,  and  he  had  convinced  himself  that  the 
putting  of  the  plan  into  execution  could  not  fail  to  be 
successful. 

At  this  time  Wacht’s  household  consisted  of  only  two 
daughters  besides  himself ; but  it  was  very  soon  to  be 
increased. 

Albeit  a clever  and  industrious  workman,  Master 
Engelbrecht  had  never  been  able  to  advance  so  far  as 
that  lowest  grade  of  affluence  which  had  been  the  re- 
ward of  Wacht’s  very  earliest  undertakings.  He  had 
to  contend  with  the  worst  enemy  of  life,  against  which 
no  human  power  is  of  any  avail ; it  not  only  threatened 
to  destroy  him,  but  really  did  destroy  him — namely, 
consumption.  He  died,  leaving  a wife  and  two  boys 
almost  in  want.  His  wife  went  back  to  her  own  home  ; 
and  Master  Wacht  would  willingly  have  taken  both  boys 
into  his  own  house,  but  this  could  only  be  arranged  in 
the  case  of  the  elder,  who  was  called  Sebastian.  He 
was  a strong  intelligent  lad,  and  having  an  inclination 
to  follow  his  father’s  trade,  promised  to  make  a good 
clever  carpenter.  He  had,  however,  a certain  refractori- 
ness of  disposition,  which  at  times  seemed  to  border 
closely  upon  badness,  as  well  as  being  somewhat  rude 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


293 


in  his  manners,  and  even  often  wild  and  untamable  ; 
but  these  ill  qualities  Wacht  hoped  to  conquer  by  wise 
training.  The  younger  boy,  Jonathan  by  name,  was 
exactly  the  opposite  of  his  elder  brother  ; he  was  a very 
pretty  little  boy,  but  rather  fragile,  his  blue  eyes  laugh- 
ing with  gentleness  and  kind-heartedness.  This  boy 
had  been  adopted  during  his  father’s  lifetime  by  Herr 
Theophilus  Eichheimer,  a worthy  doctor  of  law,  as  well 
as  the  first  and  oldest  advocate  in  the  place.  Noticing 
the  boy’s  remarkably  good  parts,  as  well  as  his  most 
decided  bent  for  knowledge,  he  had  taken  him  to  train 
him  for  a lawyer. 

And  here  one  of  those  unconquerable  prejudices  of 
our  Wacht  came  to  light  which  have  been  already 
spoken  of  above,  namely,  he  was  perfectly  convinced 
in  his  own  mind  that  everything  understood  under  the 
name  of  law  was  nothing  else  but  so  many  phrases 
artificially  hammered  out  and  put  together  by  lawyers, 
with  the  sole  purpose  of  perplexing  the  true  feeling  of 
right  which  had  been  planted  in  every  virtuous  man’s 
breast.  Since  he  could  not  exactly  shut  his  eyes  to  the 
necessity  for  law-courts,  he  discharged  all  his  hatred 
upon  the  advocates,  whom  as  a class  he  conceived  to 
be,  if  not  altogether  miserable  deceivers,  yet  at  any 
rate  such  contemptible  men  that  they  practised  usury 
in  shameful  fashion  with  all  that  was  most  holy  and 
venerable  in  the  world.  It  will  be  seen  presently  how 
Wacht,  who  in  all  other  relations  of  life  was  an  intelli- 
gent and  clear-sighted  man,  resembled  in  this  particular 
the  coarsest-minded  amongst  the  lowest  of  the  people. 
The  further  prejudice  that  he  would  not  admit  there 
was  any  piety  or  virtue  amongst  the  adherents  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church,  and  that  he  trusted  no  Cath- 
olic, might  perhaps  be  pardoned  him,  since  he  had  im- 
bibed the  principles  of  a well-nigh  fanatical  Protestant* 


294  MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 

ism  in  Augsburg.  It  may  be  conceived,  therefore,  how 
it  cut  Master  Wacht  to  the  heart  to  see  the  son  of  his 
most  faithful  friend  entering  upon  a career  that  he  so 
bitterly  detested. 

The  will  of  the  deceased,  however,  was  in  his  eyes 
sacred  ; and  it  was,  moreover,  at  any  rate  certain  that 
Jonathan  with  his  weakly  body  could  not  be  trained  up 
to  any  handicraft  that  made  any  very  large  demand 
upon  physical  strength.  Besides,  when  old  Herr 
Theophilus  Eichheimer  talked  to  the  master  about 
the  divine  gift  of  knowledge,  at  the  same  time  prais- 
ing little  Jonathan  as  a good  intelligent  boy,  Wacht 
for  the  moment  forgot  the  advocate,  and  law,  and  his 
own  prejudice  as  well.  He  fastened  all  his  hopes 
upon  the  belief  that  Jonathan,  who  bore  his  father’s 
virtues  in  his  heart,  would  give  up  his  profession  when 
he  arrived  at  riper  years,  and  was  able  to  perceive  all 
the  disgrace  that  attached  to  it. 

Though  Jonathan  was  a good,  quiet  boy,  fond  of 
studying  in-doors,  Sebastian  was  all  the  oftener  and  all 
the  deeper  engaged  in  all  kinds  of  wild  foolish  pranks. 
But  since  in  respect  to  his  handiwork  he  followed  in 
his  father’s  footsteps,  and  no  fault  could  ever  be  found 
with  his  industry  or  with  the  neatness  of  his  work, 
Master  Wacht  ascribed  his  at  times  too  outrageous 
tricks  to  the  unrefined  untamed  fire  of  youth,  and  he 
forgave  the  young  fellow,  observing  that  he  would  be 
sure  to  sow  his  wild  oats  when  on  his  travels. 

These  travels  Sebastian  soon  set  out  upon ; and 
Master  Wacht  heard  nothing  more  from  him  until  Se- 
bastian, on  attaining  his  majority,  wrote  from  Vienna, 
begging  for  his  little  patrimonial  inheritance,  which 
Master  Wacht  sent  to  him  correct  to  the  last  farthing, 
receiving  in  return  a receipt  for  it  drawn  up  by  one  of 
the  Vienna  courts. 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


295 


Just  the  same  sort  of  difference  in  character  as 
distinguished  the  Engelbrechts  was  noticeable  also 
between  Wacht’s  two  daughters,  of  whom  the  elder  was 
called  Rettel 1 and  the  younger  Nanni. 

It  may  here  be  hastily  remarked  in  passing,  that, 
according  to  the  taste  generally  prevalent  in  Bamberg, 
the  Christian  name  Nanni  is  the  prettiest  and  finest  a 
girl  can  well  have.  And  so,  kindly  reader,  if  you  ever 
ask  a pretty  child  in  Bamberg,  “What  is  your  name, 
my  little  angel  ? ” the  little  thing  will  be  sure  to  cast 
down  her  eyes  in  shy  confusion  and  tug  at  her  black 
silk  apron,  and  whisper  in  friendly  fashion  with  a 
slight  blush  upon  her  cheeks,  “ ’N  ! ’N  ! Nanni,  y’r 
honour.” 

Rettel,  Wacht’s  elder  daughter,  was  a fat  little  thing, 
with  red  rosy  cheeks  and  right  friendly  black  eyes, 
with  which  she  looked  boldly  into  the  face  of  the 
sunshine  of  life,  as  it  had  dawned  upon  her,  without 
blinking.  In  respect  of  her  education  and  her  char- 
acter she  had  not  risen  a hair’s  breadth  above  the  sphere 
of  the  handicraftsman.  She  gossiped  with  her  female 
relatives  and  friends,  and  liked  dressing  herself,  though 
in  gay  colours  and  without  taste  ; but  her  own  peculiar 
element,  wherein  she  “lived  and  moved,  and  had  her 
being,”  was  the  kitchen.  Nobody’s  hare-ragout  and 
geese  giblets,  not  even  those  of  the  most  experienced 
cook  far  and  near,  ever  turned  out  so  tasty  as  hers ; 
in  the  preparation  of  sauces  she  was  a perfect  adept  ; 
vegetables,  such  as  savoy  and  cauliflower,  were  dressed 
by  Rettel's  cunning  hand  in  a way  that  could  not  be 
beaten,  since  she  knew  in  a moment  through  a subtle 
unfailing  instinct  when  there  was  too  much  or  too 
little  dripping  ; and  her  short  cakes  put  in  the  shade 


1 Rettel  and  Rettelchen  (little  Rettel)  are  pet  names  for  Margaret. 


296 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


the  most  successful  productions  of  a similar  kind  at 
the  most  sumptuous  of  church  feasts.1 

Father  Wacht  was  very  well  satisfied  with  his  daugh- 
ter’s cooking ; and  he  once  hazarded  the  opinion  that 
the  Prince-bishop  could  not  have  more  delicious  ver- 
micelli noodles  2 on  his  table  than  those  which  Rettel 
made.  This  remark  sank  so  deeply  into  the  good  girl’s 
pleased  heart,  that  she  was  preparing  to  send  a huge 
dish  of  the  said  vermicelli  noodles  up  to  the  Prince- 
bishop,  and  that  too  on  a fast  day.  Fortunately  Master 
Wacht  got  scent  of  the  plan  in  time,  and  amidst  hearty 
laughter  prevented  the  bold  idea  from  being  put  into 
execution. 

Not  only  was  stout  little  Rettel  a clever  housekeeper, 
a perfect  cook,  and  at  the  same  time  a pattern  of 
good  nature  and  childish  affection  and  fidelity,  but 
like  a well-trained  child  she  also  loved  her  father  very 
tenderly. 

Now  characters  of  Wacht’s  class,  in  spite  of  their 
earnestness,  often  display  a certain  ironical  waggish- 
ness which  comes  into  play  on  easy  provocation,  and 
lends  an  agreeable  charm  to  life,  just  as  the  deep  brook 
greets  with  its  silver  curling  waves  the  light  breeze  that 
skims  its  surface. 

It  could  not  fail  but  that  good  Rettel’s  ways  and 
doings  frequently  provoked  this  sly  humour ; and  so 
the  relations  between  Wacht  and  his  daughter  were 
invested  with  a curiously  modified  charm  of  colour. 
The  indulgent  reader  will  come  across  instances  later 
on  ; for  the  present  it  may  suffice  to  mention  one  such 

1 The  anniversary  of  the  consecration  of  the  church  is  made  the 
occasion  of  a great  and  general  festive  holiday  in  many  parts  of  Ger- 
many, particularly  in  the  south. 

s “Noodles”  are  long  strips  of  rolled-out  paste,  made  up  and 
cooked  in  various  ways. 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


297 


here,  which  certainly  deserves  to  be  called  entertaining. 
In  Master  Wacht’s  house  there  was  a quiet,  good- 
looking  young  man,  who  held  a post  in  the  Prince’s 
exchequer  office  and  drew  a very  good  income.  In 
straightforward  German  fashion  he  sued  the  father  for 
the  hand  of  his  elder  daughter,  and  Master  Wacht,  if 
he  would  not  do  an  injustice  to  the  young  man  as 
well  as  to  his  Rettel,  could  not  help  but  grant  him 
permission  to  visit  the  house,  that  he  might  have 
opportunities  to  try  and  win  the  girl’s  affections. 
Rettel,  informed  of  the  man’s  purpose,  received  him 
with  very  friendly  looks,  in  which  might  be  read  at 
times,  “At  our  wedding,  dear,  I shall  bake  the  cake 
myself.” 

Master  Wacht,  however,  was  not  altogether  well 
pleased  with  his  daughter’s  growing  liking  for  the 
Herr  Administrator  of  the  Prince’s  revenues,  since  the 
Herr  Administrator  himself  didn’t  seem  to  him  to  be 
all  that  he  should  be.  In  the  first  place,  the  man  was 
as  a matter  of  course  a Roman  Catholic,  and  in  the 
second  place  Wacht  thought  he  perceived  in  him  on 
nearer  acquaintance  a certain  sneaking  dissimulation 
of  manner,  which  pointed  to  a mind  ill  at  ease.  Pie 
would  willingly  have  got  the  undesirable  suitor  out 
of  the  house  again  if  he  could  have  done  so  without 
hurting  Rettel’s  feelings.  Master  Wacht  observed  him 
closely,  and  knew  how  to  make  shrewd  and  cunning 
use  of  his  observations.  He  perceived  that  the  Herr 
Administrator  did  not  set  much  store  by  well-cooked 
dishes,  but  swallowed  down  everything  in  the  same  in- 
discriminate fashion,  and  that,  moreover,  in  a disagree- 
ably repulsive  way.  One  Sunday,  when  the  Herr 
Administrator  was  dining  at  Master  Wacht’s,  as  he 
usually  did  on  that  day,  the  latter  began  to  heap  up 
praises  and  commendations  upon  every  dish  which 


298 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


busy  Rettel  caused  to  be  served  up  ; and  not  only  did 
he  call  upon  the  Herr  Administrator  to  join  him  in 
his  encomiums,  but  he  also  asked  him  pointedly  what 
he  thought  of  various  ways  of  dressing  dishes.  The 
Herr  Administrator  replied  somewhat  dryly  that  he 
was  a temperate  and  abstemious  man,  accustomed 
from  his  youth  up  to  the  greatest  frugality.  At  noon, 
for  dinner,  he  was  satisfied  with  a spoonful  or  two  of 
soup  and  a little  piece  of  beef,  but  the  latter  must  be 
cooked  hard,  since  so  cooked  a smaller  quantity  sufficed 
to  satisfy  the  hunger,  and  there  was  no  need  to  over- 
load the  stomach  with  large  pieces.  For  his  evening 
meal  he  generally  managed  upon  a saucer  of  good  egg 
and  butter  beaten  up  together  and  a very  small  glass 
of  liquor  ; moreover,  the  only  other  refreshment  he 
allowed  himself  was  a glass  of  extra  beer  at  six  o’clock 
in  the  evening,  taken  if  possible  in  the  good  fresh  air. 
It  may  be  imagined  what  looks  Rettelchen  fixed  upon 
the  unfortunate  administrator.  And  yet  the  worst 
was  still  to  come.  Bavarian  puffy  noodles  were  next 
served,  and  they  were  swollen  up  to  such  a big,  big 
size  that  they  seemed  to  be  the  masterpiece  of  the 
table.  The  frugal  Herr  Administrator  took  his  knife 
and  with  the  most  cool-blooded  indifference  cut  the 
noodle  which  was  passed  to  him  into  many  pieces. 
Rettel  rushed  out  of  the  room  with  a loud  cry  of 
despair. 

I must  inform  the  reader  who  does  not  know  the 
secret  of  eating  Bavarian  puffy  noodles  that  when 
eaten  they  must  be  cleverly  pulled  to  pieces,  since 
when  cut  they  lose  all  taste  and  bring  disgrace  upon 
the  professional  pride  of  the  cook  who  made  them. 

From  that  moment  Rettel  looked  upon  the  frugal 
Herr  Administrator  as  the  most  abominable  man 
under  the  face  of  the  sun.  Master  Wacht  did  not 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


299 


contradict  her  in  any  way  ; and  so  the  reckless  icon- 
oclast in  the  province  of  cookery  lost  his  bride  for 
ever. 

Though  the  chequered  figure  of  little  Rettel  has 
cost  almost  too  many  words,  yet  a very  few  strokes 
will  suffice  to  put  clearly  before  my  reader’s  eyes  the 
face,  figure,  and  character  of  pretty,  graceful  Nanni. 

It  is  only  in  South  Germany,  particularly  in  Fran- 
conia, and  almost  exclusively  in  the  burgher  classes, 
that  you  can  meet  with  such  elegant  and  delicate 
figures,  such  good  and  pleasing  angelic  little  faces, 
where  there  is  a sweet  heavenly  yearning  in  the  blue 
eyes  and  a divine  smile  upon  the  rosy  lips,  as  Nanni’s  ; 
from  them  we  at  once  see  that  the  old  painters  had 
not  far  to  seek  the  originals  of  their  Madonnas.  Of 
exactly  the  same  type  in  figure,  face,  and  character 
was  the  Erlangen  maiden  whom  Master  Wacht  had 
married  ; and  Nanni  was  a most  faithful  copy  of  her 
mother.  With  respect  to  her  genuine  tender  woman- 
liness and  with  respect  to  that  beneficial  culture  which 
is  nothing  but  true  tact  under  all  conditions  of  life, 
her  mother  was  the  exact  counterpart  of  what  Master 
Wacht  was  with  respect  to  his  distinguishing  qualities 
as  man.  Perhaps  the  daughter  was  less  serious  and 
firm  than  her  mother,  but  on  the  other  hand  she  was 
the  perfection  of  maidenly  sweetness  ; and  the  only 
fault  that  could  be  found  with  her  was  that  her 
womanly  tenderness  of  feeling  and  a sensitiveness 
which,  as  a consequence  of  her  weakened  organisa- 
tion, was  easily  provoked  to  a tearful  and  unhealthy 
degree,  made  her  too  delicate  and  fragile  for  the 
realities  of  life. 

Master  Wacht  could  not  look  at  the  dear  child 
without  emotion,  and  he  loved  her  in  a way  that  is 
seldom  found  in  the  case  of  strong  characters  like 


3oo 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


his.  It  is  possible  that  he  may  have  always  spoiled 
her  a little  ; and  it  will  soon  be  shown  in  what  way 
her  tenderness  so  often  received  that  special  material 
and  encouragement  which  made  it  often  degenerate 
into  sickly  sentimentality. 

Nanni  loved  to  dress  with  extreme  simplicity,  but 
in  the  finest  stuffs  and  according  to  cuts  which  rose 
above  the  limits  of  her  station  in  life.  Wacht,  how- 
ever, let  her  do  as  she  liked,  since  when  dressed  accord- 
ing to  her  own  taste  the  dear  child  looked  so  very 
pretty  and  engaging. 

I must  now  hasten  to  destroy  an  idea  which  perhaps 
might  arise  in  the  mind  of  any  reader  wrho  should 
happen  to  have  been  in  Bamberg  several  years  ago, 
and  so  would  call  to  mind  the  hideous  and  tasteless 
head-dress  with  which  at  that  time  even  the  prettiest 
maidens  were  wont  to  disfigure  their  faces — the  flat 
hood  fitting  close  to  the  head  and  not  allowing  the 
smallest  little  lock  of  hair  to  be  seen,  a black  and  not 
over-broad  ribbon  crossing  close  over  the  forehead,  and 
meeting  behind  low  down  on  the  neck  in  an  outra- 
geously ugly  bow.  This  ribbon  afterwards  continued 
to  increase  in  width  until  it  reached  the  preposterous 
breadth  of  nearly  half  an  ell  ; hence  it  had  to  be 
specially  ordered  in  the  manufactory  and  strengthened 
inside  with  stiff  card-board,  so  that  it  projected  above 
the  head  like  a steeple-hat ; just  above  the  hollow  of 
the  neck  they  wore  a bow,  which  owing  to  its  breadth 
stuck  out  far  beyond  the  shoulders,  and  resembled  the 
outspread  wings  of  an  eagle ; and  along  the  temples 
and  about  the  ears  tiny  curls  crept  out  from  beneath 
the  hood.  And  strange  to  say,  many  a fine  Bamberg 
beauty  looked  quite  charming  in  this  head-covering. 

It  formed  a very  picturesque  sight  to  stand  behind 
a funeral  procession  and  watch  it  set  itself  in  motion. 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


301 


It  is  the  custom  in  Bamberg  for  the  burghers  to  be 
invited  to  attend  the  funeral  procession  of  a deceased 
person  by  the  so-called  “ death-woman,”  who  in  a 
croaking  voice  and  in  the  name  of  the  deceased  screams 
out  her  invitation  in  the  street,  in  front  of  the  house 
of  the  persons  she  is  inviting  ; as,  for  instance,  “ Herr 
so-and-so,  or  Frau  so-and-so,  beg  you  to  pay  them  the 
last  honours.”  The  good  gossips  and  the  young 
maidens,  who  in  general  seldom  get  out  into  the  open 
air,  fail  not  to  put  in  an  appearance  in  great  numbers  ; 
and  when  the  troop  of  women  sets  itself  in  motion  and 
the  wind  catches  the  immense  ends  of  the  bows,  it  can 
be  likened  to  nothing  else  but  a huge  flock  of  black 
ravens  or  eagles  suddenly  startled  and  just  beginning 
their  rustling  flight. 

The  indulgent  reader  is  therefore  requested  not  to 
picture  pretty  Nanni  in  any  other  head-dress  except  a 
neat  little  Erlangen  hood. 

However  objectionable  it  was  to  Master  Wacht  that 
Jonathan  was  to  belong  to  a class  which  he  hated,  he 
did  not  by  any  means  make  the  boy,  or  later  the  youth, 
feel  the  consequences  of  his  displeasure.  Rather  he 
was  always  very  pleased  to  see  the  good  quiet  Jonathan 
look  in  after  his  day’s  work  was  done,  to  spend  the 
evening  with  his  daughters  and  old  Barbara.  But  then 
Jonathan  also  wrote  the  finest  hand  that  could  be  seen 
anywhere  ; and  it  afforded  Master  Wacht  no  little  joy, 
for  he  was  uncommonly  fond  of  good  handwriting, 
when  his  Nanni,  whose  writing-master  Jonathan  had 
installed  himself  to  be,  began  gradually  after  a time  to 
write  the  same  elegant  hand  as  her  master. 

In  the  evening  Master  Wacht  himself  was  either  busy 
in  his  own  work-room,  or,  as  was  often  the  case,  he 
visited  a beer-house,  where  he  met  with  his  fellow- 
craftsmen  and  the  gentlemen  of  the  council,  and  in  his 


302 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


way  enlivened  the  company  with  his  own  rare  wit. 
Meanwhile  in  the  house  at  home  Barbara  busily  kept 
her  distaff  on  the  whirl  and  whizz,  whilst  Rettel  bal- 
anced the  house-keeping  accounts,  or  thought  out  the 
preparation  of  new  and  hitherto  unheard-of  dishes,  or 
related  again  to  the  old  woman,  mingled  with  a good 
deal  of  loud  laughter,  what  she  had  learned  in  confi- 
dence from  her  various  gossips  in  the  town. 

And  the  youth  Jonathan  ? He  sat  at  the  table  with 
Nanni  ; and  she  also  wrote  and  drew,  of  course  under 
his  guidance.  And  yet  to  sit  writing  and  drawing  the 
whole  evening  through  is  a downright  tiring  piece  of 
business  ; hence  it  was  no  unfrequent  occurrence  for 
Jonathan  to  draw  some  neatly-bound  book  out  of  his 
pocket  and  read  it  to  pretty,  sensitive  Nanni  in  a low 
softly-whispering  tone. 

Through  old  Eichheimer’s  influence  Jonathan  had 
won  the  patronage  of  the  minor  canon,  who  designated 
Master  Wacht  a real  Verrina.  The  canon,  Count  von 
Kösel,  a man  of  genius,  lived  and  revelled  in  Goethe’s 
and  Schiller’s  works,  which  were  just  at  that  time  be- 
ginning to  rise  like  bright  streaming  meteors,  over- 
topping all  others,  above  the  horizon  of  the  literary 
sky.  He  thought,  and  rightly,  that  he  discerned  a sim- 
ilar tendency  in  his  attorney’s  young  clerk,  and  took  a 
special  delight  not  only  in  lending  him  the  works  in 
question,  but  in  reading  them  in  common  with  him,  and 
so  helping  him  to  thoroughly  digest  them. 

But  Jonathan  won  his  way  to  the  Count’s  heart  in  an 
especial  way,  because  he  expressed  a very  favourable 
opinion  of  the  verses  which  the  Count  patched  together 
out  of  high-sounding  phrases  in  the  sweat  of  his  own 
brow,  and  because  he  was,  to  the  Count’s  unspeakable 
satisfaction,  edified  and  touched  by  them  to  the  proper 
pitch.  Nevertheless  it  is  a fact  that  Jonathan’s  taste 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


3°3 


in  aesthetic  matters  was  really  greatly  improved  by  his 
intercourse  with  the  intellectual,  though  somewhat 
euphuistic,  Count. 

My  kind  reader  now  knows  what  class  of  books  Jon- 
athan used  to  take  out  of  his  pocket  and  read  to  pretty 
Nanni,  and  can  form  a just  conception  of  the  way  in 
which  this  kind  of  writings  would  inevitably  excite  a 
girl  mentally  organised  as  Nanni  was.  “ O star  of  the 
gloaming  eve!”  Would  not  Nanni’s  tears  flow  when 
her  attractive  writing-master  began  in  this  low  and  sol- 
emn fashion  ? 

It  is  a fact  of  common  experience  that  young  people 
who  are  in  the  habit  of  singing  tender  love-duets 
together  very  easily  put  themselves  in  the  places  of  the 
fictitious  characters  of  the  song,  and  come  to  look  upon 
the  duets  in  question  as  giving  both  the  melody  and  the 
text  for  the  whole  of  life  ; so  also  the  youth  who  reads 
a love  romance  to  a maiden  very  readily  becomes  the 
hero  of  the  story,  whilst  the  girl  dreams  herself  into  the 
role  of  the  heroine.  In  the  case  of  such  fitly  adapted 
spirits  as  Jonathan  and  Nanni  such  incitement  as  this 
even  was  not  required  to  provoke  them  to  love  each 
other.  They  were  one  heart  and  one  soul  ; the  maiden 
and  the  youth  were,  so  to  speak,  but  one  brightly  burn- 
ing flame  of  love,  pure  and  inextinguishable.  Of  his 
daughter’s  tender  passion  Father  Wacht  had  not  the 
slighest  inkling  ; but  he  was  soon  to  learn  all. 

Through  unwearied  industry  and  genuine  talent  Jon- 
athan succeeded  in  a brief  space  of  time  in  completing 
his  legal  studies  and  qualifying  for  admission  to  the 
grade  of  advocate  ; and,  as  a matter  of  fact,  his  admis- 
sion soon  followed.  He  intended  one  Sunday  to  sur- 
prise Master  Wacht  with  this  glad  news,  which  estab- 
lished him  upon  a secure  footing  for  life.  But  imagine 
how  he  trembled  with  dismay  when  Wacht  bent  his 


3°4 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


eyes  upon  him,  blazing  with  anger  ; he  had  never  seen 
him  look  so  passionately  wrathful.  “ What  ! ” cried 
Wacht,  in  a tone  that  made  the  walls  ring  again,  “ what  ! 
you  miserable  good-for-nothing  fellow ! Nature  has 
neglected  your  body,  but  richly  endowed  you  with 
splendid  intellectual  gifts,  and  these  you  are  intending 
to  abuse  in  a shameless  way,  like  a bad  crafty  knave, 
and  so  putting  your  knife  at  your  own  mother’s  throat  ? 
You  mean  to  say  you  are  going  to  traffic  in  justice  as 
in  some  cheap  paltry  ware  in  the  public  market,  and 
weigh  it  out  with  false  scales  to  the  poor  peasants  and 
the  oppressed  burgher,  who  in  vain  utter  their  plaintive 
cries  before  the  soft-cushioned  seat  of  the  inexorable 
judge,  and  going  to  get  yourself  paid  with  blood-stained 
pence  which  the  poor  man  hands  to  you  whilst  bathed 
in  tears  ? Will  you  fill  your  brains  with  lying  laws  of 
man’s  contriving,  and  practise  knavish  tricks  and 
schemes,  and  make  a lucrative  business  of  it  to  fatten 
yourself  upon  ? Is  all  your  father’s  virtue,  tell  me, 
vanished  from  your  heart  ? Your  father — your  name 
is  Engelbrecht — no  ! when  I hear  you  called  so  I will 
not  believe  that  it  is  the  name  of  my  comrade,  who  was 
a pattern  of  virtue  and  honesty,  but  I must  believe  that 
it  is  Satan,  who  in  the  apish  mockery  of  Hell  is  shout- 
ing the  name  across  his  grave,  and  so  beguiling  men  to 
take  the  young  lying  lawyer’s  cub  for  the  real  son  of 
that  excellent  carpenter  Gottfried  Engelbrecht.  Be- 
gone ! you  are  no  longer  my  foster-son  ! You  are  a 
serpent  whom  I will  pluck  from  my  bosom,  whom  I 
will  disown  ” 

At  this  point  Nanni  rushed  in  and  threw  herself  at 
Master  Wacht’s  feet  with  a piercing  heart-rending  cry 
of  distress.  “ Father  ! ’’  she  cried,  completely  overcome 
by  her  incontrollable  anguish  and  unbridled  despair, 
“father,  if  you  disown  him,  you  will  disown  me  also — 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT.  305 

me,  your  own  favourite  daughter ; he  is  mine,  my 
Jonathan  ; I can  never,  never  part  with  him  in  this 
world.” 

The  poor  child  fell  down  in  a swoon  and  struck  her 
head  against  the  closet-door,  so  that  the  drops  of  blood 
trickled  down  her  delicate  white  forehead.  Barbara 
and  Rettel  ran  in  and  carried  the  insensible  girl  to  the 
sofa.  Jonathan  stood  like  a statue,  as  if  thunderstruck, 
incapable  of  the  slightest  movement.  It  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  describe  the  inner  emotions  which  revealed 
themselves  on  Wacht’s  countenance.  His  face,  instead 
of  being  flushed  with  the  redness  of  anger,  was  now 
pale  as  a corpse’s  ; there  only  remained  a dark  fire 
gleaming  in  his  fixed  set  eyes  ; the  cold  perspiration  of 
death  appeared  to  be  standing  on  his  forehead.  After 
gazing  unchangeably  before  him  for  some  minutes 
without  speaking,  he  relieved  his  labouring  breast  by 
saying  in  a significant  tone,  “ So  that  was  it  ! ” then  he 
strode  slowly  towards  the  door,  where  he  again  stood 
still,  and  turning  half  round  towards  the  women,  cried, 
“ Dont’  spare  eau  de  Cologne , and  this  foolery  will  soon 
be  over.” 

Shortly  afterwards  the  Master  was  seen  to  leave  the 
house  at  a quick  pace  and  bend  his  steps  towards  the 
hills.  It  may  be  conceived  in  what  great  trouble  and 
distress  the  family  was  plunged.  Rettel  and  Barbara 
could  not  for  the  life  of  them  imagine  what  terrible 
thing  had  happened  ; but  when  the  Master  did  not 
return  to  dinner,  but  stayed  out  till  late  at  night — a 
thing  he  had  never  done  before — they  were  greatly 
agitated  with  anxiety  and  fear.  At  length  they  heard 
him  coming,  heard  him  open  the  street-door,  bang  it 
violently  to,  ascend  the  stairs  with  strong  firm  footsteps, 
and  lock  himself  in  his  own  chamber. 

Poor  Nanni  soon  recovered  herself  again  and  wept 
Vol.  II. — 20 


3°6 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


quietly  to  herself.  But  Jonathan  did  not  stop  short  of 
wild  outbreaks  of  inconsolable  despair,  and  several 
times  spoke  of  shooting  himself.  It  is  a fortunate 
thing  that  pistols  are  articles  which  do  not  necessarily 
belong  to  the  furniture  of  sentimental  young  lawyers  ; 
or  at  least,  if  they  are  to  be  found  amongst  their  effects, 
they  generally  have  no  lock  or  else  won’t  go  off. 

After  he  had  run  through  certain  streets  like  a mad- 
man, Jonathan’s  course  led  him  instinctively  to  his 
noble  patron,  to  whom  he  lamented  all  his  unheard-of 
misery  in  outbreaks  of  the  most  violent  passion.  It  need 
hardly  be  added,  it  is  so  self-evident  a thing,  that  the 
young  love-smitten  advocate  was,  according  to  his  own 
desperate  assertions,  the  first  and  only  individual  in  all 
the  wide  world  whom  such  a terrible  fate  had  befallen, 
wherefore  he  reproached  destiny  and  all  the  powers  of 
enmity  as  having  conspired  together  against  him. 

The  canon  listened  to  him  calmly  and  with  a certain 
share  of  interest ; but  nevertheless  he  did  not  appear 
to  appreciate  the  full  extent  of  the  trouble  which  the 
young  lawyer  imagined  he  felt.  “My  dear  young 
friend,”  said  the  canon,  taking  the  advocate  by  the 
hand  in  a friendly  way,  and  leading  him  to  a seat, 
“ my  dear  young  friend,  hitherto  I have  looked  upon 
our  carpenter  Herr  Johannes  Wacht  as  a great  man 
in  his  way,  but  I now  perceive  that  he  is  also  a very 
great  fool.  Great  fools  are  like  jibbing  horses  ; it’s 
hard  to  make  them  move  ; but  once  they  have  been 
got  to  move,  they  trot  merrily  along  the -way  they  are 
wanted  to  go.  In  spite  of  the  old  man’s  senseless  anger 
you  ought  not  by  any  means  to  give  up  your  beautiful 
Nanni  in  consequence  of  the  unpleasant  scene  of  to- 
day. But  before  proceeding  to  talk  further  about  your 
love-affair,  which  is  indeed  very  charming  and  romantic, 
let  us  turn  to  and  discuss  a little  breakfast.  It  was 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


3 °7 


noon  when  you  went  to  old  Wacht,  and  I don’t  dine 
until  four  o’clock  in  Seehof.”  1 

A very  appetising  breakfast  indeed  was  served  up  on 
the  little  table  at  which  they  both  sat- — the  canon  and 
the  advocate — Bayonne  hams,  garnished  round  about 
with  slices  of  Portuguese  onions,  a cold  larded  par- 
tridge of  the  red  kind  and  a foreigner  to  boot,  truffles 
cooked  in  red  wine,  a dish  of  Strasburg  pdtds  de  foie  gras, 
finally  a plate  of  genuine  Strachino 2 and  another  with 
butter,  as  yellow  and  shining  as  lilies  of  the  valley. 

The  indulgent  reader  who  loves  such  dainty  butter, 
and  ever  goes  to  Bamberg,  will  be  pleased  at  getting 
there  the  finest  and  best,  but  will  also  at  the  same  time 
be  annoyed  when  he  learns  that  the  inhabitants,  from 
mistaken  notions  of  housekeeping,  melt  it  down  to  a 
grease,  which  generally  tastes  rancid  and  spoils  all  the 
food. 

Besides,  good  dry  champagne  was  sending  up  its 
pearly  sparkles  in  a beautifully-cut  crystal  decanter. 
The  canon  had  not  unloosed  the  napkin  from  his  neck, 
but  had  let  it  stay  where  it  was  when  he  had  received 
the  young  lawyer  ; and,  after  the  footman  had  quickly 
supplied  a second  cover,  he  proceeded  to  place  the 
choicest  morsels  before  the  despairing  lover  and  to  pour 
out  wine  for  him  ; and  then  he  set  to  work  heartily 
himself.  Some  one  once  had  the  hardihood  to  main- 
tain that  the  stomach  is  equivalent  to  all  the  other 
physical  and  intellectual  parts  of  man  put  together. 
That  is  a profane  and  abominable  doctrine  ; but  this 
much  is  certain,  that  the  stomach  is  like  a despotic  ty- 

1 Seehof  or  Marquardsburg,  situated  to  the  north-east  of  Bamberg, 
was  formerly  a bishop’s  castle,  and  was  rebuilt  by  Marquard  Sebastian 
Schenk  of  Stauffenberg  in  1688. 

5 Stracchino,  a kind  of  cheese  made  in  North  Italy,  especially  in 
Brescia,  Milan,  and  Bergamo. 


3°8 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


rant  or  ironical  mystifier,  and  often  carries  through  its 
own  will.  And  this  was  the  case  in  the  present  instance. 
For  instinctively,  without  being  clearly  conscious  of 
what  he  was  about,  the  young  lawyer  had  in  a few  min- 
utes devoured  a huge  piece  of  Bayonne  ham,  created 
terrible  devastation  amongst  the  Portuguese  garniture, 
put  out  of  sight  half  a partridge,  no  inconsiderable  quan- 
tity of  truffles,  and  also  more  Strasburg  pates  than  was 
exactly  becoming  in  a young  advocate  full  of  trouble. 
Moreover,  they  both  relished  the  champagne  so  much 
that  the  footman  soon  had  to  fill  up  the  crystal  decanter 
a second  time. 

The  advocate  felt  a pleasant  and  beneficial  degree  of 
warmth  penetrate  his  vitals,  and  all  he  experienced 
of  his  trouble  was  a singular  sort  of  shiver,  which  ex- 
actly resembled  electric  shocks,  causing  pain  but  do- 
ing  good.  He  proved  himself  susceptible  to  the  con- 
solations of  his  patron,  who,  after  comfortably  sipping 
up  his  last  glass  of  wine  and  elegantly  wiping  his  mouth, 
settled  himself  into  position  and  began  as  follows  : — 

“ In  the  first  place,  my  dear  good  friend,  you  must 
not  be  so  foolish  as  to  imagine  that  you  are  the  only 
man  on  earth  to  whom  a father  has  refused  the  hand 
of  his  daughter.  But  that  ’s  nothing  to  do  with  the  pres- 
ent case.  As  I have  already  told  you,  the  old  fool’s 
reason  for  hating  you  is  so  preposterously  absurd  that 
it  cannot  last  long  ; and  whether  it  appear  to  you  at 
this  moment  nonsensical  or  not,  I can  hardly  bear  the 
thought  of  all  ending  in  a tame  commonplace  wedding, 
so  that  the  whole  thing  may  be  summed  up  in  the  few 
words, — Peter  has  wooed  Grete,1  and  Peter  and  Grete 
are  man  and  wife. 

1 A pet  name  for  Gretchen  (Margaret),  frequently  used  also  as  equiv- 
alent to  “sweetheart,”  “lass,”  just  as  we  might  say,  “ Ever)' Johnny 
has  his  Jeannie.  ” 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


3°9 


“ The  situation  is,  however,  so  far  new  and  grand  in 
that  it  is  merely  hatred  against  a class  to  which  the  be- 
loved foster-son  belongs  that  can  furnish  the  sole  lever 
for  setting  a new  and  special  tragic  development  in  mo- 
tion ; but  to  the  real  matter  at  issue  ! You  are  a poet, 
my  friend,  and  that  alters  everything.  Your  love,  your 
trouble,  ought  to  appear  in  your  eyes  as  something 
magnificent,  in  the  full  splendours  of  the  sacred  art  of 
poesy.  You  will  hear  the  strains  of  the  lyre  struck  by 
the  muse  who  is  nearest  akin  to  you,  and  in  the  divine 
gush  of  inspiration  you  will  receive  the  winged  words 
in  which  to  express  your  love  and  your  unhappiness. 
As  a poet  you  might  be  called  at  this  moment  the 
happiest  man  on  the  earth,  since,  your  heart  having 
been  really  wounded  as  deep  as  it  can  be  wounded, 
your  heart’s  blood  is  now  gushing  out.  You  require, 
therefore,  no  artifical  incitement  to  allure  you  to  a po- 
etic mood  ; and  mark  my  words,  this  period  of  trouble 
will  enable  you  to  produce  something  great  and  ad- 
mirable. 

“ I must  draw  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  in  these 
first  moments  of  your  unhappiness  there  will  be  min- 
gled with  it  a peculiar  and  very  unpleasant  feeling 
which  cannot  be  woven  into  any  poetry  ; but  it  is  a 
feeling  which  soon  vanishes  away.  Let  me  make  you 
understand.  For  example,  after  the  unfortunate  lover 
has  had  a good  sound  drubbing  from  the  enraged  fa- 
ther, and  has  been  kicked  out  of  the  house,  and  the 
outraged  mamma  has  locked  the  young  lady  in  her 
chamber,  and  repelled  the  attempted  storming  on  the 
part  of  the  desperate  lover  by  the  armed  domestics  of 
the  house,  and  when  plebeian  fists  have  even  enter- 
tained no  shyness  of  the  very  finest  cloth  ” (here  the 
canon  sighed  somewhat),  “then  this  fermented  prose  of 
miserable  vulgarity  must  evaporate  in  order  that  the 


3i° 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


pure  poetic  unhappiness  of  love  may  settle  as  sediment. 
You  have  been  fearfully  scolded,  my  dear  young  friend, 
this  was  the  bitter  prose  that  had  to  be  surmounted  ; 
you  have  surmounted  it,  and  so  now  give  yourself  up 
entirely  to  poetry.  Here — here  are  Petrarch's  Sonnets 
and  Ovid’s  Elegies  ; take  them,  read  them,  write  your- 
self, and  come  and  read  to  me  what  you  have  written. 
Perhaps  in  the  meantime  I also  may  experience  a dis- 
appointment in  love,  of  which  I am  not  altogether 
deprived  of  hopes,  since  I shall  in  all  likelihood  fall  in 
love  with  a stranger  lady  who  has  stopped  at  the 
‘White  Lamb’  in  the  Steinweg,1  and  whom  Count 
Nesselstädt  maintains  to  be  a paragon  of  beauty  and 
grace,  albeit  he  has  only  caught  a fugitive  glimpse  of 
her  at  the  window.  Then,  my  friend,  like  the  Dios- 
curi, we  will  travel  the  same  bright  path  of  poetry  and 
disappointed  love.  Note,  good  fellow,  what  a great 
advantage  my  station  in  life  gives  me,  for  every  affec- 
tion which  I conceive,  being  a longing  and  hoping 
which  can  never  be  gratified,  rises  to  tragic  intensity. 
But  now,  my  friend,  out,  out,  away  into  the  w7oods  as 
you  ought  to.” 

It  would  doubtless  be  very  wearisome  to  my  kind 
reader,  if  not  unbearable,  were  I to  describe  here  at 
length,  in  detail  and  with  all  sorts  of  over-choice  and 
exquisite  words  and  phrases,  all  that  Jonathan  and 
Nanni  did  in  their  trouble.  Such  things  may  be  found 
in  any  indifferent  romance  ; and  it  is  often  amusing 
enough  to  see  into  what  postures  the  struggling  author 
throws  himself,  merely  in  order  to  appear  original. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  seems  to  be  of  great  importance 
to  follow  Master  Wacht  on  his  walks,  or  rather  in  his 
mental  journeyings. 


A long  winding  suburb  of  Bamberg. 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


3” 


It  must  appear  very  remarkable  that  a man  of  such 
strong  self-reliant  spirit  as  Master  Wacht,  who  had 
borne  with  unshaken  courage  and  unbending  stead- 
fastness the  most  terrible  misfortunes  that  had  befallen 
him,  and  that  would  have  crushed  many  less  stout- 
hearted spirits,  could  be  thus  put  beside  himself  with 
passion  at  an  occurrence  which  any  other  father  of  a 
family  would  have  regarded  as  an  ordinary  event  and 
one  easy  to  remedy,  and  would  in  fact  have  set  about 
remedying  it  in  some  way  or  other,  good  or  bad.  Of 
course  the  indulgent  reader  is  well  aware  that  this  be- 
haviour of  Wacht’s  must  be  traced  to  some  good  psy- 
chological reason.  The  thought  that  poor  Nanni’s  love 
for  innocent  Jonathan  was  a misfortune  which  would 
exercise  a pernicious  influence  upon  the  whole  course 
of  his  subsequent  life  was  only  due  to  the  perverse  dis- 
cord in  Wacht’s  soul.  But  the  very  fact  that  this  discord 
was  able  to  go  on  making  itself  heard  in  the  otherwise 
harmonical  character  of  this  thoroughly  noble  man,  em- 
braced the  impossibility  of  smothering  it  or  reducing  it 
completely  to  silence. 

Wacht  had  made  his  acquaintance  with  the  feminine 
character  in  one  who  possessed  it  in  a simple  but  also 
at  the  same  time  grand  and  noble  form.  His  own  wife 
had  enabled  him  to  see  into  the  depths  of  the  real 
woman’s  nature,  as  in  a bright  mirror-like  lake.  He 
saw  in  her  the  true  heroine  who  fought  with  weapons 
that  were  constantly  unconquerable.  His  orphan  wife 
had  forfeited  the  inheritance  of  an  immensely  rich 
aunt,  she  had  forfeited  the  love  of  all  her  relatives,  and 
she  had  opposed  with  unshaken  courage  the  persistent 
efforts  of  the  Church,  which  embittered  her  life  with 
many  a hard  trial,  when,  though  herself  trained  up  in 
the  Catholic  religion,  she  had  married  the  Protestant 
Wacht,  and  shortly  before  had  gone  over  to  this  faith 


312 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


in  Augsburg,  impelled  thereto  by  the  pure  enthusiasm 
of  conviction.  All  this  now  passed  through  Master 
Wacht’s  mind  ; and  as  he  thought  upon  the  sentiments 
he  had  felt  when  he  led  the  maiden  to  the  altar,  the 
warm  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  Nanni  was  her 
mother  over  again  ; Wacht  loved  the  child  with  an  in- 
tensity of  affection  that  was  quite  unparalleled,  and 
this  fact  was  of  itself  more  than  enough  to  make  him 
reject  as  abominable,  nay,  as  fiendishly  cruel,  any  at- 
tempt to  separate  the  lovers  that  appeared  in  the 
remotest  degree  to  savour  of  violence.  When,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  reflected  upon  the  whole  course  of 
Jonathan’s  previous  life,  he  was  obliged  to  admit  that 
all  the  virtues  of  a good,  industrious,  and  modest  youth 
could  not  easily  be  so  happily  united  in  another  as  they 
were  in  Jonathan,  albeit  his  handsome  expressive  face 
bore  the  impress  of  traits  which  were  perhaps  a little 
too  soft,  and  almost  effeminate,  and  his  diminutive  and 
weak  but  elegant  bodily  frame  bespoke  a tender  in- 
tellectual spirit.  When  he  reflected  further  that  the 
two  children  had  always  been  together,  and  how  evi- 
dent had  been  their  mutual  liking  for  each  other,  he 
was  really  puzzled  to  understand  how  it  was  that  he 
had  not  expected  beforehand  what  had  now  really 
happened,  and  so  could  have  taken  precautions  in 
time.  Now  it  was  too  late. 

He  was  urged  on  through  the  hills  by  a mood  of 
mind  which  set  his  whole  being  in  a turmoil  of  dis- 
traction ; such  a state  as  this  he  had  hitherto  never 
experienced,  and  he  was  inclined  to  take  it  for  a se- 
duction of  Satan,  since  several  thoughts  arose  in  his 
mind  which  in  the  very  next  minute  he  could  not  help 
regarding  as  diabolical.  He  could  not  recover  his  self- 
composure, still  less  form  any  decisive  plan  of  action. 
The  sun  was  beginning  to  set  when  he  reached  the 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


313 


village  of  Buch  ; 1 turning  into  the  hotel,  he  ordered 
something  good  to  eat  and  a bottle  of  excellent  beer 
from  the  rock.2 

“ Ah  ! a very  fine  evening ! Ah  ! what  a remarkable 
occurrence  to  see  our  good  Master  Wacht  here  in 
beautiful  Buch,  on  this  glorious  Sunday  evening.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  I can  hardly  believe  my  eyes.  Your 
respected  family  is,  I presume,  somewhere  else  in  the 
country.”  Thus  was  Master  Wacht  addressed  by  some 
one  with  a shrill,  squeaking  voice.  The  man  who  thus 
interrupted  his  meditations  was  no  less  a personage 
than  Herr  Pickard  Leberfink,  a decorator  and  gilder 
by  trade,  and  one  of  the  drollest  men  in  the  world. 

Leberfink’s  exterior  struck  everybody’s  eye  as  some- 
thing eccentric  and  extraordinary.  He  was  of  small 
size,  thick  and  stumpy,  with  a body  too  long,  and 
with  short  bowed  legs  ; his  face  was  not  at  all  ugly, 
but  good-natured,  with  round  red  little  cheeks  and 
small  grey  eyes  that  were  by  no  means  wanting  in 
vivacity.  Pursuant  to  an  old  obsolete  French  fashion, 
he  was  elaborately  curled  and  powdered  every  day  ; but 
it  was  on  Sundays  that  his  costume  was  especially 
striking.  For  then  he  wore,  to  take  one  example,  a 
striped  silk  coat  of  a lilac  and  canary-yellow  colour 
with  immense  silver-plated  buttons,  a waistcoat  em- 
broidered in  gay  tints,  satin  hose  of  a brilliant  green, 
white  and  light-blue  silk  stockings,  delicately  striped, 
and  shining  black  polished  shoes,  upon  which  glittered 


1 Or  Bug,  as  it  is  generally  spelled,  a pleasure  resort  on  the  Regnitz, 
about  half  an  hour  distant  from  Bamberg.  Hoffmann  was  in  the  habit 
of  visiting  it  almost  daily  when  he  lived  at  Bamberg. 

2 In  the  days  before  ice  was  preserved  on  such  an  extensive  scale  by 
the  German  brewers  as  it  is  at  the  present  time,  beer  was  kept  in  ex- 
cavations in  rock,  wherever  a suitable  place  could  be  found  ; this  made 
it  deliciously  cool  and  fresh. 


3H 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


large  buckles  set  with  precious  stones.  If  to  this  we 
add  that  his  gait  was  the  elegant  gait  of  a dancing 
master,  that  he  had  a certain  cat-like  suppleness  of 
body,  and  that  his  little  legs  had  a strange  knack  of 
knocking  the  heels  together  on  fitting  occasions, — for 
instance,  when  leaping  across  a gutter, — it  could  not 
fail  but  that  the  little  decorator  got  himself  singled 
out  everywhere  as  an  extraordinary  creature.  With 
other  aspects  of  his  character  my  kindly  reader  will 
make  an  acquaintance  presently. 

Master  Wacht  was  not  altogether  displeased  at  hav- 
ing his  painful  meditations  interrupted  in  this  way. 
Herr,  or  better  Monsieur  Pickard  Leberfink,  decorator 
and  gilder,  was  a great  fop,  but  at  the  same  time  the 
most  honest  and  faithful  soul  in  the  world  ; he  was  a 
very  liberal-minded  man,  was  generous  to  the  poor, 
and  always  ready  to  serve  his  friends.  He  only  prac- 
tised his  calling  now  and  again,  merely  out  of  love  for 
it,  since  he  had  no  need  of  business.  He  was  rich  ; his 
father  had  left  him  some  landed  property,  having  a mag- 
nificent rock-cellar,  which  was  only  separated  from  Mas- 
ter Wacht’s  premises  by  a large  garden.  Master  Wacht 
was  fond  of  the  droll  little  Leberfink  on  account  of 
his  downright  genuineness,  and  also  because  he  was  a 
member  of  the  small  Protestant  community  which  was 
permitted  to  exercise  the  rites  of  its  faith  in  Bamberg. 
With  conspicuous  alacrity  and  willingness  Leberfink 
accepted  Wacht’s  invitation  to  join  him  at  his  table,  and 
drink  another  bottle  of  beer  from  the  rock  along  with 
him.  He  began  the  conversation  by  saying  that  for  a 
long  time  he  had  been  wanting  to  call  upon  Master 
Wacht  at  his  own  house,  since  he  had  two  things  he 
wished  to  talk  to  him  about,  one  of  which  was  almost 
making  his  heart  burst.  Wacht  made  answer,  he 
thought  Leberfink  knew  him,  and  must  be  aware  that 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


315 

anybody  who  had  anything  to  say  to  him,  no  matter 
what  it  was,  might  speak  out  his  thoughts  frankly. 
Leberfink  now  imparted  to  the  Master  in  confidence 
that  the  wine-dealer  who  owned  the  beautiful  garden, 
with  the  massive  pavilion,  which  lay  between  their  two 
properties,  had  privately  offered  to  sell  it  to  him.  He 
thought  he  recollected  having  heard  Wacht  once  ex- 
press a wish  how  very  much  he  should  like  to  own  this 
garden  ; if  now  the  opportunity  was  come  to  satisfy 
this  wish,  he  (Leberfink)  offered  his  services  as  negotia- 
tor, and  expressed  his  willingness  to  settle  everything 
for  him. 

It  was  a fact  that  Master  Wacht  had  for  some  time 
entertained  a desire  to  enlarge  his  property  by  the 
addition  of  a good  garden,  and  especially  so  since 
Nanni  was  always  longing  for  the  beautiful  shrubs  and 
trees  which  gave  out  such  a luxurious  abundance  of 
sweet  scents  in  this  very  garden.  Moreover,  it  seemed 
to  him  now  as  if  Fortune  were  graciouly  smiling  upon 
him,  and  just  at  the  time  when  poor  Nanni  had 
experienced  such  bitter  trouble,  an  opportunity  for 
affording  her  pleasure  should  present  itself  so  unex- 
pectedly. The  Master  at  once  settled  all  the  needful 
particulars  with  the  obliging  decorator,  who  promised 
that  on  the  following  Sunday  Wacht  should  be  able 
to  stroll  through  the  garden  as  its  owner.  “ Come 
now,”  cried  Master  Wacht,  “come  now,  friend  Le- 
berfink, out  with  it — what  is  it  that  is  making  your 
heart  burst  ? ” 

Then  Herr  Pickard  Leberfink  fell  to  sighing  in  the 
most  pitiable  manner  ; and  he  pulled  the  most  extra- 
ordinary faces,  and  ran  on  with  such  a string  of 
gibberish  that  nobody  could  make  either  head  or  tail 
of  it.  Master  Wacht,  however,  knew  what  to  make 
of  it,  for  he  shook  his  head,  saying,  “ Ah  ! that  may 


3 1 6 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


be  contrived  ; ” and  he  smiled  to  himself  at  the  wonder- 
ful sympathy  of  their  related  spirits. 

This  meeting  with  Leberfink  had  certainly  done 
Master  Wacht  good  ; he  believed  he  had  conceived  a 
plan  by  virtue  of  which  he  should  manage  not  only 
to  stand  against,  but  even  to  overcome,  the  severest 
and  most  terrible  misfortune  which,  according  to  his 
infatuated  way  of  thinking,  had  come  upon  him.  The 
only  thing  that  can  declare  the  verdict  of  the  tribunal 
within  him  is  the  course  of  action  he  adopted  ; and 
perhaps,  kindly  reader,  this  tribunal  faltered  for  the 
first  time.  Here  is  the  place  to  offer  a brief  remark, 
which,  perhaps,  would  not  very  well  lend  itself  for 
insertion  later.  As  so  frequently  happens  in  such 
cases,  old  Barbara  had  interfered  in  the  matter,  and 
been  very  urgent  in  her  accusations  of  the  loving  pair 
to  Master  Wacht,  making  it  a special  charge  against 
them  that  they  had  always  read  worldly  books  together. 
The  Master  caused  her  to  bring  two  or  three  of  the 
books  which  Nanni  had.  One  was  a work  of  Goethe’s  ; 
unfortunately  it  is  not  known  which  work  it  was. 
After  turning  over  the  leaves,  he  gave  it  back  to 
Barbara,  that  she  might  restore  it  to  the  place  whence 
she  had  secretly  taken  it.  Not  a single  word  about 
Nanni’s  reading  ever  escaped  him  ; once  only,  when 
some  seasonable  occasion  presented  at  dinner,  did  he 
say,  “ There  is  a remarkable  mind  rising  up  amongst 
us  Germans  ; God  grant  him  success  ! My  days  are 
over  ; such  things  are  not  for  my  age,  nor  yet  for  my 
calling;  but  you — Jonathan!  I envy  you  many 

things  that  will  come  to  light  in  the  days  to  come.” 
Jonathan  understood  Wacht’s  oracular  words  the 
more  easily,  since  some  days  previously  he  had  dis- 
covered by  chance  Götz  von  Berlichingen 1 lying  on 


1 Goethe’s  well-known  work. 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


3>7 


the  Master’s  work-table,  half  covered  by  other  pa- 
pers. Wacht’s  great  mind,  whilst  acknowledging  the 
uncommon  genius  of  the  new  writer,  had  also  per- 
ceived the  impossibility  of  beginning  a new  flight  him- 
self. 

Next  day  poor  Nanni  hung  her  head  like  a sick 
dove.  “What’s  the  matter  with  my  dear  child?’’ 
asked  Master  Wacht  in  the  tender  sympathetic  tone 
that  was  so  peculiarly  his  own,  and  with  which  he 
knew  how  to  stir  everybody’s  heart,  “ what’s  the 
matter  with  my  dear  child  ? are  you  ill  ? I can’t 
believe  it.  You  don’t  get  out  into  the  fresh  air 
sufficiently.  See  here  now  ; I have  a long  time  been 
wishing  you  would  for  once  in  a way  bring  me  my  tea 
out  to  the  workshop.  Do  so  to-day  ; we  may  expect 
a most  beautiful  evening.  You  will  come,  won’t  you, 
Nanni,  my  darling  ? You  will  butter  me  some  rolls 
yourself — that  will  make  them  ever  so  good.”  There- 
with Master  Wacht  took  the  dear  girl  in  his  arms  and 
stroked  her  brown  curls  back  from  her  forehead,  and 
he  kissed  her  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  tenderly 
caressed  her, — treating  her,  in  fact,  in  the  most  affec- 
tionate way  that  he  knew  how  ; and  he  was  well  aware 
of  the  irresistible  charm  of  his  manner  at  such  times. 
A flood  of  tears  gushed  from  Nanni’s  eyes,  and  with 
some  difficulty  all  she  could  get  out  was,  “ Father ! 
father  ! ” “ Well,  well  ! ” said  Wacht,  and  a strain  of 

embarrassment  might  have  been  detected  in  his  voice, 
“all  may  yet  turn  out  well.” 

A week  passed  ; naturally  enough  Jonathan  had 
not  shown  himself,  and  the  Master  had  not  mentioned 
him  with  a single  syllable.  On  Sunday,  when  the 
soup  was  standing  smoking  on  the  table,  and  the 
family  were  about  to  take  their  seats  for  dinner,  Master 
Wacht  asked  gaily,  “And  where  is  our  Jonathan?" 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


318 

Rettel,  with  a view  to  sparing  poor  Nanni,  replied  in 
an  undertone,  “ Father,  don’t  you  know  then  what’s 
taken  place?  Wouldn’t  Jonathan  of  course  be  shy  of 
showing  himself  here  in  your  presence  ? ” “ Oh  the 

monkey  ! ” said  Wacht,  laughing  ; “ let  Christian  run 
over  at  once  and  fetch  him.” 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  the  young  advocate 
failed  not  to  put  in  an  appearance  immediately,  nor 
that  during  the  first  moments  after  his  arrival  a dark 
oppressive  thunder-cloud,  as  it  were,  hovered  over 
them  all.  At  length,  however,  Master  Wacht’s  un- 
constrained good  spirits,  seconded  by  Leberfink’s  droll 
sallies,  succeeded  in  calling  forth  a tone  of  conversation 
which,  if  it  could  not  be  called  exactly  merry,  yet 
managed  to  maintain  the  balance  of  concord  pretty 
evenly.  After  dinner  Master  Wacht  said,  “Let  us 
get  a little  fresh  air  and  stroll  out  to  my  workyard.” 
And  they  did  so. 

Monsieur  Pickard  Leberfink  deliberately  kept  close 
to  Rettelchen’s  side,  who  was  a pattern  of  friendliness 
towards  him,  since  the  polite  decorator  had  exhausted 
himself  in  praising  her  dishes,  and  had  confessed  that 
never  so  long  as  he  had  lived,  not  even  when  dining 
with  the  ecclesiastics  in  Banz,1  had  he  enjoyed  a more 
delicious  meal.  As  Master  Wacht  now  hurried  on  at 
a quick  pace  right  across  the  middle  of  the  workyard, 
with  a large  bundle  of  keys  in  his  hand,  the  young 
lawyer  was  unintentionally  brought  close  to  Nanni. 
But  all  that  the  lovers  ventured  upon  were  stolen  sighs 
and  low  soft-breathed  love-plaints. 

Master  Wacht  came  to  a halt  in  front  of  a fine 


1 A once  rich  and  celebrated  Benedictine  abbey  between  Bamberg 
and  Coburg,  founded  in  the  eleventh  century,  and  frequently  destroyed 
and  sacked  in  war. 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


3l9 

newly-made  door,  which  had  been  constructed  in  the 
wall  parting  his  workyard  from  the  merchant’s  gar- 
den. He  unlocked  the  door  and  stepped  in,  inviting 
his  family  to  follow  him.  They,  none  of  them,  knew 
exactly  what  to  make  of  the  old  gentleman,  except 
Herr  Pickard  Leberfink,  who  never  laid  aside  his  sly 
smile,  or  ceased  his  soft  giggle*  In  the  midst  of  the 
beautiful  garden  there  was  a very  spacious  pavilion  ; 
this  too  Master  Wacht  opened,  and  stepping  in  re- 
mained standing  in  its  centre  ; from  every  one  of  its 
windows  one  obtained  a different  romantic  view. 
“ Yes,”  said  Master  Wacht  in  a voice  that  bore  wit- 
ness to  a heart  well  pleased  with  itself,  “ here  I am 
in  my  own  property  ; this  beautiful  garden  is  mine. 
I was  obliged  to  buy  it,  not  so  much  to  augment  my 
own  place  or  increase  the  value  of  my  property,  no  ! 
but  because  I knew  that  a certain  darling  little  thing 
longed  so  for  these  shrubs  and  trees,  and  for  these 
beautiful  sweet-smelling  flower-beds.” 

Then  Nanni  threw  herself  upon  the  old  gentleman’s 
breast  and  cried,  “O  father!  father!  You  will  break 
my  heart  with  your  kindness,  with  your  goodness  ; 

do  have  pity  ” “ There,  there,  say  no  more,” 

Master  Wacht  interrupted  his  suffering  child,  “ be  a 
good  girl,  and  all  may  be  brought  right  in  some  mar- 
vellous way.  You  can  find  a great  deal  of  comfort 

in  this  little  paradise” “Oh!  yes,  yes,  yes,” 

exclaimed  Nanni  in  a burst  of  enthusiasm,  “O  ye 
trees,  ye  shrubs,  ye  flowers,  ye  distant  hills,  you  beau- 
tiful fleeting  evening  clouds — my  spirit  lives  wholly  in 
you  all  ; I shall  come  to  myself  again  when  your  sweet 
voices  comfort  me.”  Therewith  Nanni  ran  out  of  the 
open  door  of  the  pavilion  into  the  garden  like  a star- 
tled young  roe  ; and  Jonathan,  the  lawyer,  delayed  not 
to  follow  her  at  his  fastest  speed,  for  no  power  would 


3 20  MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 

then  have  been  able  to  keep  him  back.  Monsieur 
Pickard  Leberfink  requested  permission  to  show  Ret- 
telchen  round  the  new  property. 

Meanwhile  old  Wacht  had  beer  and  tobacco  brought 
to  a spot  under  the  trees,  close  at  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
whence  he  could  look  down  into  the  valley  ; and  there 
he  sat  in  a right  glad  and  comfortable  humour,  puffing 
the  blue  clouds  of  genuine  Holland  into  the  air.  No 
doubt  my  kindly  reader  is  wondering  greatly  at  this 
frame  of  mind  in  Master  Wacht,  and  is  at  a loss  to  ex- 
plain to  himself  how  a mood  like  this  was  at  all  possible 
to  a temperament  like  Wacht’s.  He  had  arrived,  not  so 
much  at  any  determined  plan  as  at  the  conviction  that 
the  Eternal  Power  could  not  possibly  let  him  live  to 
experience  such  a very  terrible  misfortune  as  that  of 
seeing  his  favourite  child  united  to  a lawyer  ; that  is, 
to  Satan  himself.  “ Something  will  happen,”  he  said  to 
himself  ; “ something  must  happen,  by  which  either 
this  unhappy  affair  will  be  broken  off  or  Jonathan 
snatched  from  the  pit  of  destruction.  It  would  be 
rash  temerity,  nay,  perhaps  a ruinous  piece  of  mis- 
chief, producing  the  exact  contrary  of  what  was  wished, 
if  with  my  feeble  hand  I were  to  attempt  to  control  the 
fly-wheel  of  Destiny.” 

It  is  hard  to  credit  what  miserable,  nay,  often  what 
absurd  reasons  a man  will  hunt  up  in  order  to  repre- 
sent the  approaching  misfortune  as  avertable.  So  there 
were  moments  in  which  Wacht  built  his  hopes  upon 
the  arrival  of  wild  Sebastian,  whom  he  pictured  to 
himself  as  a stalwart  young  fellow  in  the  full  flush  and 
pride  of  youth,  just  on  the  point  of  attaining  to  man- 
hood, and  that  he  would  bring  about  a change  of  di- 
rection in  the  drifting  of  circumstances,  and  make 
things  different  from  what  they  then  were.  The  very 
common,  and  alas  ! often  too  true  idea  came  into  his 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


321 


head,  that  woman  is  too  greatly  impressed  by  strong 
and  striking  manliness  not  to  be  conquered  by  it  at  last. 

When  the  sun  began  to  go  down,  Monsieur  Pickard 
Leberfink  invited  the  family  to  go  into  his  garden, 
which  adjoined  their  own,  and  take  a little  refreshment. 
Beside  Wacht’s  new  possession  the  noble  decorator 
and  gilder’s  garden  formed  a most  ridiculous  and 
extraordinary  contrast.  Whilst  almost  too  small  in 
size,  so  that  the  only  thing  it  could  perhaps  boast  in  its 
favour  was  the  good  height  at  which  it  was  situated, 
it  was  laid  out  in  Dutch  style,  the  trees  and  hedges 
clipped  with  the  shears  in  the  most  scrupulous  and 
pedantic  fashion.  The  slender  stems  of  the  fruit-trees 
standing  in  the  flower-beds  looked  very  pretty  in  their 
coats  of  light  blue  and  rose  tints,  and  pale  yellow,  and 
other  colours.  Leberfink  had  varnished  them,  and  so 
beautified  Nature.  Moreover  they  saw  in  the  trees  the 
apples  of  the  Hesperides.1 

But  yet  several  further  surprises  were  in  store. 
Leberfink  bade  the  girls  pluck  themselves  a nosegay 
each  ; but  on  gathering  the  flowers  they  perceived  to 
their  amazement  that  both  stalks  and  leaves  were 
gilded.  It  was  also  very  remarkable  that  all  the  leaves 
which  Rettel  took  into  her  hands  were  shaped  like 
hearts. 

The  refreshment  upon  which  Leberfink  regaled  his 
guests  consisted  of  the  choicest  confectionery,  the 
finest  sweetmeats,  and  old  Rhine  wine  and  Muscatel. 
Rettel  was  quite  beside  herself  over  the  confectionery, 
observing  with  special  emphasis  that  such  sweetmeats, 
which  were  for  the  most  part  splendidly  silvered  and 
gilded,  were  not,  she  knew  made  in  Bamberg.  Then 
Monsieur  Pickard  Leberfink  assured  her  privately, 


1 That  is,  they  were  golden,  or  gilded. 
Vol.  II.— 21 


322 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


with  a most  amorous  smirk,  that  he  himself  knew  a 
little  about  baking  cakes  and  sweets,  and  that  he  was 
the  happy  maker  of  all  these  delicious  dainties.  Rettel 
almost  fell  upon  her  knees  before  him  in  reverence 
and  astonishment ; and  yet  the  greatest  surprise  was 
still  in  store  for  her. 

In  the  deepening  dusk  Monsieur  Pickard  Leberfink 
very  cleverly  contrived  to  entice  little  Rettel  into  a 
small  arbour.  No  sooner  was  he  alone  with  her  than 
he  recklessly  plumped  himself  down  upon  both  knees 
in  the  wet  grass,  notwithstanding  that  he  was  wearing 
his  brilliant  green  satin  hose ; and,  amidst  many 
strange  and  unintelligible  sounds  of  distress — not  very 
dissimilar  to  the  midnight  elegies  of  the  tom-cat  Hinz  1 
— he  presented  her  with  an  immense  nosegay  of  flowers, 
in  the  middle  of  which  was  the  finest  full-blown  rose 
that  could  be  found  anywhere.  Rettel  did  what  every- 
body does  who  has  a nosegay  given  to  him  ; she  raised 
it  to  her  nose  ; but  in  the  selfsame  moment  she  felt  a 
sharp  prick.  In  her  alarm  she  was  about  to  throw  the 
nosegay  away.  But  see  what  charming  wonder  had  re- 
vealed itself  in  the  meantime  ! A beautifully  varnished 
little  cupid  had  leapt  up  out  of  the  heart  of  the  rose 
and  was  holding  out  a burning  heart  with  both  hands 
towards  Rettel.  From  his  mouth  depended  a small 
strip  of  paper  on  which  were  wrritten  the  words,  “ Voilä 
le  coeur  de  Monsieur  Pickard  Leberfink,  que  je  vous 
offre  ” (Here  I offer  you  the  heart  of  Monsieur  Pickard 
Leberfink). 

“ Good  gracious ! ” exclaimed  Rettel,  very  much 

1 Hinze  is  Tieck’s  Gestiefelter  Kater  (Puss  in  Boots).  The  reference 
is  perhaps  to  act  ii.  scene  2,  where  Hinze  goes  out  to  catch  rabbits, 
&c.,  and  hears  the  nightingale  singing,  the  humour  of  the  scene  lying 
in  the  quick  alternation  of  the  human  poetic  sentiments  and  the  native 
instincts  of  the  cat. 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


323 


alarmed.  “ Good  gracious  ! what  are  you  doing,  my 
good  Herr  Leberfink  ? Don’t  kneel  down  in  front  of 
me  as  if  I were  a princess.  You  will  make  marks  on 
your  beautiful  satin — in  the  wet  grass,  and  you  will 
catch  cold  yourself  ; but  elder  tea  and  white  sugar 
candv  are  s:ood  remedies.” 

“No!”  exclaimed  the  desperate  lover — “No,  O 
Margaret,  Pickard  Leberfink,  who  loves  you  with  all 
his  heart,  will  not  rise  from  the  wet  grass  until  you 

promise  to  be  his” “You  want  to  marry  me?” 

asked  Rettel.  “ Well  then,  up  you  get  at  once.  Speak 
to  my  father,  darling  Leberfink,  and  drink  one  or  two 
cups  of  elder  tea  this  evening.” 

Why  should  the  reader  be  longer  wearied  with 
Leberfink’s  and  Rettel’s  folly  ? They  were  made  for 
each  other,  and  were  betrothed,  at  which  Father  Wacht 
was  right  glad  in  his  own  teasing,  humorous  way. 

A certain  degree  of  life  was  introduced  into  Wacht’s 
house  by  Rettel’s  betrothal  ; and  even  the  disconsolate 
lovers  had  more  freedom,  since  they  were  less  observed. 
But  something  of  a quite  special  character  was  to 
happen  to  put  an  abrupt  end  to  this  quiet  and  com- 
fortable condition  in  which  they  were  all  living.  The 
young  lawyer  seemed  particularly  preoccupied,  and  his 
thoughts  busy  with  some  affair  or  another  that  absorbed 
all  his  energies  ; his  visits  at  Wacht’s  house  even  began 
to  be  less  frequent,  and  he  often  stayed  away  in  the 
evening — a thing  he  had  never  been  wont  to  do  previ- 
ously. “What  can  be  the  matter  with  our  Jonathan  ? 
He  is  completely  preoccupied  ; he’s  quite  another  fel- 
low from  what  he  used  to  be,”  said  Master  Wacht,  al- 
though he  knew  very  well  what  was  the  cause,  or 
rather  the  event,  which  was  exercising  such  a visible 
influence  upon  the  young  lawyer,  at  least  to  all  out- 
ward appearance.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  looked  upon 


324  MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 

this  event  as  the  dispensation  of  Providence  through 
which  he  should  perhaps  escape  the  great  misfortune 
by  which  he  believed  himself  threatened,  and  which  he 
felt  would  completely  upset  all  the  happiness  of  his 
life. 

Some  few  months  previously  a young  and  unknown 
lady  had  arrived  in  Bamberg,  and  under  circumstances 
which  could  only  be  called  singular  and  mysterious. 
She  was  staying  at  the  “White  Lamb.”  All  the  ser- 
vants she  had  with  her  were  an  old  grey-haired  man- 
servant and  an  old  lady’s-maid.  Very  various  were 
the  opinions  current  about  her.  Many  maintained  she 
was  a distinguished  and  immensely  rich  Hungarian 
countess,  who,  owing  to  matrimonial  dissensions,  was 
compelled  to  take  up  her  residence  in  solitary  retire- 
ment in  Bamberg  for  a time.  Others,  on  the  contrary, 
set  her  down  as  an  ordinary  forsaken  Dido,  and  yet 
others  as  an  itinerant  singer,  who  would  soon  throw 
off  her  veil  of  nobility  and  announce  herself  as  about 
to  give  a concert, — possibly  she  had  no  recommenda- 
tions to  the  Prince-bishop.  At  any  rate  the  majority 
were  unanimous  in  making  up  their  minds  to  regard 
the  stranger,  who,  according  to  the  statements  of  the 
few  persons  who  had  seen  her,  was  of  exceptional 
beauty,  as  an  extremely  ambiguous  person. 

It  had  been  noticed  that  the  stranger  lady’s  old  man- 
servant had  followed  the  young  lawyer  about  a long 
time,  until  one  day  he  caught  him  at  the  spring  in  the 
market-place,  which  is  ornamented  with  an  image  of 
Neptune  (whom  the  honest  folk  of  Bamberg  are  gener- 
ally in  the  habit  of  calling  the  Fork-man)  ; and  there 
the  old  man  stood  talking  to  Jonathan  a long,  long 
time.  Spirits  alive  to  all  that  goes  forward,  who  can 
never  meet  anybody  without  asking  eagerly,  “ Where- 
ever  has  he  been  ? Wherever  is  he  going  ? Whatever 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


325 


is  he  doing  ? ” and  so  on,  had  made  out  that  the  young 
advocate  very  often  visited  the  beautiful  unknown,  in 
fact  almost  every  day  and  at  night-time,  when  he  spent 
several  hours  with  her.  It  was  soon  the  talk  of  the 
town  that  the  lawyer  Jonathan  Engelbrecht  had  got 
entangled  in  the  dangerous  toils  of  the  young  unknown 
adventuress. 

It  would  have  been,  both  then  and  always,  entirely 
contrary  to  Master  Wacht’s  character  to  make  use  of 
this  apparent  erring  conduct  of  the  young  advocate  as 
a weapon  against  poor  Nanni.  He  left  it  to  Dame 
Barbara  and  her  whole  following  of  gossips  to  keep 
Nanni  informed  of  all  particulars  ; from  them  she 
would  learn  every  item  of  intelligence,  and  that,  he 
made  no  doubt,  with  a due  amplification  of  all  the  de- 
tails. The  crisis  of  the  whole  affair  was  reached  when 
one  day  the  young  lawyer  suddenly  set  off  on  a journey 
along  with  the  lady,  nobody  knew  whither.  “ That’s 
the  way  frivolity  goes  on  ; the  forward  young  gentle- 
man will  lose  his  business,”  said  the  knowing  ones. 
But  this  was  not  the  case  ; for  not  a little  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  the  public,  old  Eichheimer  himself  attended 
to  his  foster-son’s  business  with  the  most  painstaking 
care  ; he  seemed  to  be  initiated  into  the  secret  about 
the  lady  and  to  approve  of  all  the  steps  taken  by  his 
foster-son. 

Master  Wacht  never  spoke  a word  about  the  matter, 
and  once  when  poor  Nanni  could  no  longer  hide  her 
trouble,  but  moaned  in  a low  tone,  her  voice  half- 
choked  with  tears,  “Why  has  Jonathan  left  us?” 
Master  Wacht  replied  in  an  off-handed  way,  “ Ay, 
that’s  just  what  lawyers  do.  Who  knows  what  sort  of 
an  intrigue  Jonathan  has  got  entangled  in  with  the 
stranger,  thinking  it  will  bring  him  money,  and  be  to 
his  advantage  ?”  Then,  however,  Herr  Pickard  Leber- 


326 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


fink  was  wont  to  take  Jonathan’s  side,  and  to  assert 
that  he  for  his  part  was  convinced  the  stranger  could 
be  nothing  less  than  a princess,  who  had  had  recourse 
to  the  already  world-renowned  young  advocate  in  an 
extremely  delicate  law-suit.  And  therewith  he  also 
unearthed  so  many  stories  about  lawyers  who,  through 
especial  sagacity  and  especial  penetration  and  skill, 
had  unravelled  the  most  complicated  difficulties,  and 
brought  to  light  the  most  closely  hidden  things,  till 
Master  Wacht  begged  him  for  goodness’  sake  to  hold 
his  tongue,  since  he  was  feeling  quite  ill  and  sick  ; 
Nanni,  on  the  contrary,  derived  inward  comfort  from 
all  Leberfink’s  remarkable  stories,  and  she  plucked  up 
her  hopes  again.  With  her  trouble,  however,  there 
was  united  a perceptible  mixture  of  annoyance  and 
anger,  and  particularly  at  the  moments  when  it  seemed 
to  her  utterly  impossible  that  Jonathan  could  have 
been  untrue  to  her.  From  this  it  might  be  inferred 
that  Jonathan  had  not  sought  to  exculpate  himself,  but 
had  obstinately  maintained  silence  about  his  adven- 
ture. 

After  some  months  had  elapsed  the  young  lawyer 
came  back  to  Bamberg  in  the  highest  good  spirits  ; 
and  Master  Wacht,  on  seeing  the  bright  glad  light  in 
Nanni’s  eyes  when  she  looked  at  him,  could  not  well 
do  otherwise  than  conclude  that  Jonathan  had  fully 
justified  his  conduct  to  her.  Doubtless  it  would  not 
be  disagreeable  to  the  indulgent  reader  to  have  the 
history  of  what  had  taken  place  between  the  stranger 
lady  and  the  young  lawyer  inserted  here  as  an  episodi- 
cal novella. 

Count  Z , a Hungarian,  owner  of  more  than  a 

million,  married  from  pure  affection  a miserably  poor 
girl,  who  drew  down  upon  her  head  the  hatred  of  his 
family,  not  only  because  her  own  family  was  enshrouded 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


327 


in  complete  obscurity,  but  also  because  the  only  val- 
uable treasures  she  possessed  were  her  divine  virtue, 
beauty,  and  grace.  The  Count  promised  his  wife  that 
at  his  death  he  would  settle  all  his  property  upon  her 
by  will. 

Once  when  he  returned  to  Vienna  into  the  arms  of 
his  wife,  after  having  been  summoned  from  Paris  to  St. 
Petersburg  on  diplomatic  business,  he  related  to  her 
that  he  had  been  attacked  by  a severe  illness  in  a little 
town,  the  name  of  which  he  had  quite  forgotten  ; there 
he  had  seized  the  opportunity  whilst  recovering  from 
his  illness  to  draw  up  a will  in  her  favour  and  deposit 
it  with  the  court.  Some  miles  farther  on  the  road  he 
must  have  been  seized  with  a new  and  doubly  virulent 
attack  of  his  grave  nervous  complaint,  so  that  the  name 
of  the  place  where  he  had  made  his  will  and  that  of  the 
court  where  he  had  deposited  it  had  completely  slipped 
his  memory  ; moreover,  he  had  lost  the  document  of 
receipt  from  the  court  acknowledging  the  deposition 
of  the  testament.  As  so  often  happens  in  similar  cases 
the  Count  postponed  the  making  of  a new  will  from 
day  to  day,  until  he  was  overtaken  by  death.  Then  his 
relatives  did  not  neglect  to  lay  claim  to  all  the  property 
he  left  behind  him,  so  that  the  poor  Countess  saw  her 
too  rich  inheritance  melted  down  to  the  insignificant 
sum  represented  by  certain  valuable  presents  she  had 
received  from  the  Count,  and  which  his  relatives  could 
not  deprive  her  of.  Many  different  notifications  bear- 
ing upon  the  features  of  the  case  were  found  amongst 
the  Count’s  papers  ; but  since  such  statements,  that  a 
will  was  in  existence,  could  not  take  the  place  of  the 
will  itself,  they  proved  not  to  be  of  the  slightest  ad- 
vantage to  the  Countess.  She  had  consulted  many 
learned  lawyers  about  her  unfortunate  situation,  and 
had  finally  come  to  Bamberg  to  have  recourse  to  old 


328 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


Eichheimer  ; but  he  had  directed  her  to  young  Engel- 
brecht,  who,  being  less  busy  and  equipped  with  excel- 
lent intellectual  acuteness  and  great  love  for  his  pro- 
fession, would  perhaps  be  able  to  get  a clue  to  the 
unfortunate  will  or  furnish  some  other  circumstantial 
proof  of  its  actual  existence. 

The  young  advocate  set  to  work  by  requesting  per- 
mission of  the  competent  authorities  to  submit  the 
Count’s  papers  in  the  castle  to  another  searching  in- 
vestigation. He  himself  went  thither  along  with  the 
Countess  ; and  in  the  presence  of  the  officials  of  the 
court  he  found  in  a cupboard  of  nut-wood,  that  had 
hitherto  escaped  observation,  an  old  portfolio,  in  which, 
though  they  did  not  find  the  Count’s  document  of 
receipt  relating  to  the  deposition  of  the  will,  they  yet 
discovered  a paper  which  could  not  fail  to  be  of  the 
utmost  importance  for  the  young  advocate’s  purpose. 
For  this  paper  contained  an  accurate  description  of  all 
the  circumstances,  even  the  minutest  details,  under 
which  the  Count  had  made  a will  in  favour  of  his 
wife  and  deposited  it  in  the  keeping  of  a court.  The 
Count’s  diplomatic  journey  from  Paris  to  Petersburg 
had  brought  him  to  Königsberg  in  Prussia.  Here  he 
chanced  to  come  across  some  East  Prussian  noblemen, 
whom  he  had  previously  met  with  whilst  on  a visit  to 
Italy.  In  spite  of  the  express  rate  at  which  the  Count 
was  travelling,  he  nevertheless  suffered  himself  to  be 
persuaded  to  make  a short  excursion  into  East  Prussia, 
particularly  as  the  big  hunts  had  begun,  and  the  Count 
was  a passionate  sportsman.  He  named  the  towns 
Wehlau,  Allenburg,  Friedland,  &c.,  as  places  where 
he  had  been.  Then  he  set  out  to  go  straight  forwards 
directly  to  the  Russian  frontier,  without  returning  to 
Königsberg. 

In  a little  town,  whose  wretched  appearance  the 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


329 


Count  could  hardly  find  words  to  describe,  he  was 
suddenly  prostrated  by  a nervous  disorder,  which  for 
several  days  quite  deprived  him  of  consciousness. 
Fortunately  there  was  a young  and  right  clever  doctor 
in  the  place,  who  opposed  a stout  resistance  to  the 
disease,  so  that  the  Count  not  only  recovered  con- 
sciousness but  also  his  health,  so  far  that  after  a few 
days  he  was  in  a position  to  continue  his  journey.  But 
his  heart  was  oppressed  with  the  fear  that  a second 
attack  on  the  road  might  kill  him,  and  so  plunge  his 
wife  in  a condition  of  the  most  straitened  poverty. 
Not  a little  to  his  astonishment  he  learned  from  the 
doctor  that  the  place,  in  spite  of  its  small  size  and 
wretched  appearance,  was  the  seat  of  a Prussian  pro- 
vincial court,  and  that  he  could  there  have  his  will 
registered  with  all  due  formality,  as  soon  as  he  could 
succeed  in  establishing  his  identity.  This,  however, 
was  a most  formidable  difficulty,  for  who  knew  the 
Count  in  this  district  ? But  wonderful  are  the  doings 
of  Accident ! Just  as  the  Count  got  out  of  his  carriage 
in  front  of  the  inn  of  the  little  town,  there  stood  in  the 
doorway  a grey-haired  old  invalid,  almost  eighty  years 
old,  who  dwelt  in  a neighbouring  village  and  earned  a 
living  by  plaiting  willow  baskets,  and  who  only  seldom 
came  into  the  town.  In  his  youth  he  had  served  in 
the  Austrian  army,  and  for  fifteen  successive  years  had 
been  groom  to  the  Count’s  father.  At  the  first  glance 
he  remembered  his  master’s  son  ; and  he  and  his  wife 
acted  as  fully  legitimated  vouchers  of  the  Count’s 
identity,  and  not  to  their  detriment,  as  may  well  be 
conceived. 

The  young  advocate  at  once  saw  that  all  depended 
upon  the  locality  and  its  exact  correspondence  with 
the  Count’s  statements,  if  he  wanted  to  glean  further 
details  and  find  a clue  to  the  place  where  the  Count 


330 


MASTER  JOHANNES  IVA  CH  T. 


had  been  ill  and  made  his  testament.  He  set  off  with 
the  Countess  for  East  Prussia.  There  by  examination 
of  the  post-books  he  was  desirous  of  making  out,  if 
possible,  the  route  of  travel  pursued  by  the  Count. 
But  after  a good  deal  of  wasted  effort,  he  only  man- 
aged to  discover  that  the  Count  had  taken  post-horses 
from  Eylau  to  Allenburg.  Beyond  Allenburg  ever)' 
trace  was  lost  ; nevertheless  he  satisfied  himself  that 
the  Count  had  certainly  travelled  through  Prussian 
Lithuania,  and  of  this  he  was  still  further  convinced  on 
finding  registered  at  Tilsit  that  the  Count  had  arrived 
there  and  departed  thence  by  extra  post.  Beyond  this 
point  again  all  traces  were  lost.  Accordingly  it  seemed 
to  the  young  advocate  that  they  must  seek  for  the  solu- 
tion of  the  difficulty  in  the  short  stretch  of  country 
between  Allenburg  and  Tilsit. 

Quite  dispirited  and  full  of  anxious  care  he  arrived 
one  rainy  evening  at  the  small  country  town  of  Inster- 
burg, accompanied  by  the  Countess.  On  entering  the 
wretched  apartments  in  the  inn,  he  became  conscious 
that  a strange  kind  of  expectant  feeling  was  taking 
possession  of  him.  He  felt  so  like  being  at  home  in 
them,  as  if  he  had  even  been  there  before,  or  as  if  the 
place  had  been  most  accurately  described  to  him.  The 
Countess  withdrew  to  her  apartments.  The  young 
advocate  tossed  restlessly  on  his  bed.  When  the  morn- 
ing sun  shone  in  brightly  through  the  window,  his 
eyes  fell  upon  the  paper  in  one  corner  of  the  room. 
He  noticed  that  a large  patch  of  the  blue  colour  with 
which  the  room  was  but  lightly  washed  had  fallen  off, 
showing  the  disagreeable  glaring  yellow  that  formed 
the  ground  colour,  and  upon  it  he  observed  that  all 
kinds  of  hideous  faces  in  the  New  Zealand  style  had 
been  painted  to  serve  as  pleasing  arabesques.  Per- 
fectly beside  himself  with  joy  and  delight,  the  young 


MASTER  JOHANNES  IVACHT. 


331 


lawyer  sprang  out  of  bed.  He  was  in  the  room  in 

which  Count  Z had  made  the  all-important  will. 

The  description  agreed  too  exactly  ; there  could  not 
be  any  doubt  about  the  matter. 

But  why  now  weary  the  reader  with  all  the  minor 
details  of  the  things  that  now  took  place  one  after  the 
other  ? Suffice  it  to  say  that  Insterburg  was  then,  as 
it  still  is,  the  seat  of  a Prussian  superior  tribunal,  at 
that  time  called  an  Imperial  Court.  The  young  ad- 
vocate at  once  waited  upon  the  president  with  the 
Countess.  By  means  of  the  papers  which  she  had 
brought  with  her,  and  which  were  drawn  up  in  due 
authenticated  form,  the  Countess  established  her  own 
identity  in  the  most  satisfactory  manner  ; and  the  will 
was  publicly  declared  to  be  perfectly  genuine.  Hence 
the  Countess,  who  had  left  her  own  country  in  great 
distress  and  poverty,  now  returned  in  the  full  possession 
of  all  the  rights  of  which  a hostile  destiny  had  at- 
tempted to  deprive  her. 

In  Nanni’s  eyes  the  advocate  appeared  like  a hero 
from  heaven,  who  had  victoriously  protected  deserted 
innocence  against  the  wickedness  of  the  world.  Le- 
berfink also  poured  out  all  his  great  admiration  of  the 
young  lawyer’s  acuteness  and  energy  in  exaggerated 
encomiums.  Master  Wacht,  too,  praised  Jonathan’s 
industry,  and  this  trait  he  emphasised  ; and  yet  the  boy 
had  really  done  nothing  but  what  it  was  his  duty  to 
do  ; still  he  somehow  fancied  that  things  might  have 
been  managed  in  a much  shorter  way.  “ This  event  I 
regard,”  said  Jonathan,  “as  a star  of  real  good  fortune, 
which  has  risen  upon  the  path  of  my  career  almost 
before  I have  started  upon  it.  The  case  has  created  a 
great  deal  of  sensation.  All  the  Hungarian  magnates 
are  excited  about  it.  My  name  has  become  known. 
And  what  is  a long  way  the  best  of  all,  the  Countess 


332 


M. ASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


was  so  liberal  as  to  honour  me  with  ten  thousand  Bra* 
bant  thalers.”  1 

During  the  course  of  the  young  advocate’s  narration, 
the  muscles  of  Master  Wacht’s  face  began  to  move  in 
a remarkable  way,  till  at  last  his  countenance  wore  an 
expression  of  the  greatest  indignation.  “ What ! ” he 
at  length  shouted  in  a lion-like  voice,  whilst  his  eyes 
flashed  fire — “What!  did  I not  tell  you?  You  have 
made  a sale  of  justice.  The  Countess,  in  order  to  get 
her  lawful  inheritance  out  of  the  hands  of  her  rascally 
relations,  has  had  to  pay  money,  to  sacrifice  to  Mam- 
mon. Faugh  ! faugh  ! be  ashamed  of  yourself.”  All 
the  sensible  protestations  of  the  young  advocate,  as 
well  as  of  the  rest  of  the  persons  who  happened  to  be 
present,  were  not  of  the  slightest  avail.  For  a second 
it  seemed  as  if  their  representations  would  gain  a hear- 
ing, when  it  was  stated  that  no  one  had  ever  given  a 
present  with  more  willing  pleasure  than  the  Countess 
had  done  on  the  sudden  conclusion  of  her  case,  and 
that,  as  good  Leberfink  very  well  knew,  the  young  ad- 
vocate had  only  himself  to  blame  that  his  honorarium 
had  not  turned  out  to  be  more  in  amount  as  well  as 
more  on  a level  with  the  magnitude  of  the  lady’s  gain  ; 
nevertheless  Master  Wacht  stuck  to  his  own  opinion, 
and  they  heard  from  him  in  his  own  obstinate  fashion 
the  familiar  words,  “ So  soon  as  you  begin  to  talk  about 
justice,  you  and  everybody  else  in  the  world  ought  to 
hold  your  tongues  about  money.  It  is  true,”  he  went 
on  more  calmly  after  a pause,  “ there  are  several  cir- 
cumstances connected  with  this  history  which  might 
very  well  excuse  you,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  lead 
you  astray  into  base  selfishness  ; but  have  the  kindness 


1 So  named  from  the  place  where  they  were  struck.  See  note,  p. 

281,  Vol.  I. 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


333 


to  hold  your  tongue  about  the  Countess,  and  the  will, 
and  the  ten  thousand  thalers,  if  you  please.  I should 
indeed  be  fancying  many  a time  that  you  didn’t  alto- 
gether belong  to  your  place  at  my  table  there.” 

“ You  are  very  hard — very  unjust  towards  me,  father,” 
said  the  young  advocate,  his  voice  trembling  with  sad- 
ness. Nanni’s  tears  flowed  quietly  ; Leberfink,  like  an 
experienced  man  of  the  world,  hastened  to  turn  the 
conversation  upon  the  new  gildings  in  St.  Gangolph’s.1 

It  may  readily  be  conceived  in  what  strained  relations 
the  members  of  Wacht’s  family  now  lived.  Where  was 
their  unconstrained  conversation,  their  bright  good 
spirits,  where  their  cheerfulness  ? A deadly  vexation 
was  slowly  gnawing  at  Wacht’s  heart,  and  it  stood 
plainly  written  upon  his  countenance. 

Meanwhile  they  received  not  the  least  scrap  of  in- 
telligence from  Sebastian  Engelbrecht,  and  so  the  last 
feeble  ray  of  hope  that  Master  Wacht  had  seen  glim- 
mering appeared  about  to  fade.  Master  Wacht’s  fore- 
man, Andreas  by  name,  was  a plain,  honest,  faithful 
fellow,  who  clung  to  his  master  with  an  affection  that 
could  not  be  matched  anywhere.  “ Master,”  said  he 
one  morning  as  they  were  measuring  beams  together 
— “ Master,  I can’t  bear  it  any  longer ; it  breaks  my 

heart  to  see  you  suffer  so.  Fräulein  Nanni poor 

Herr  Jonathan  ! ” Quickly  throwing  away  the  measur- 
ing lines,  Master  Wacht  stepped  up  to  him  and  took 
him  by  the  breast,  saying,  “ Man,  if  you  are  able  to 
tear  out  of  this  heart  the  convictions  as  to  what  is  true 
and  right  which  have  been  engraven  upon  it  by  the 
Eternal  Power  in  letters  of  fire,  then  what  you  are 
thinking  about  may  come  to  pass.”  Andreas,  who 
was  not  the  man  to  enter  upon  a dispute  with  his  mas- 


1 A church  situated  at  the  beginning  of  the  Steinweg. 


334 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


ter  upon  these  sort  of  terms,  scratched  himself  behind 
his  ear,  and  replied  with  an  embarrassed  smirk,  “ Then 
if  a certain  distinguished  gentleman  were  to  pay  a 
morning  visit  to  the  workshop,  I suppose  it  would  pro- 
duce no  particular  effect  ? ” Master  Wacht  perceived 
in  a moment  that  a storm  was  brewing  against  him, 
and  that  it  was  in  all  probability  being  directed  by 
Count  von  Kösel. 

Just  as  the  clock  struck  nine  Nanni  appeared  in  the 
workshop,  followed  by  old  Barbara  with  the  breakfast. 
The  Master  was  not  well  pleased  to  see  his  daughter, 
since  it  was  out  of  rule  ; and  he  saw  the  programme  of 
the  concerted  attack  already  peeping  out.  Nor  was  it 
long  before  the  minor  canon  really  made  his  appear- 
ance, as  smart  and  prim  and  proper  as  a pet  doll. 
Close  at  his  heels  followed  Monsieur  Pickard  Leberfink, 
decorator  and  gilder,  clad  in  all  sorts  of  gay  colours, 
so  that  he  looked  not  unlike  a spring-chafer.  Wacht 
pretended  to  be  highly  delighted  with  the  visit,  the 
cause  of  which  he  at  once  insinuated  to  be  that  the 
minor  canon  very  likely  wanted  to  see  his  newest 
models.  The  truth  is,  Master  Wacht  felt  very  shy  at 
the  possibility  of  having  to  listen  to  the  canon’s  long- 
winded  sermons,  which  he  would  deliver  himself  of 
uselessly  if  he  attempted  to  shake  his  (Wacht’s)  resolu- 
tion with  respect  to  Nanni  and  Jonathan.  Accident 
came  to  his  rescue  ; for  just  as  the  canon,  the  young 
lawyer,  and  the  varnisher  were  standing  together,  and 
the  first-named  was  beginning  to  approach  the  most 
intimate  relations  of  life  in  the  most  elegantly  turned 
phrases,  fat  Hans  shouted  out  “Wood  here!”  and  big 
Peter  on  the  other  side  pushed  the  wood  across  to  him 
so  roughly  that  it  caught  the  canon  a violent  blow  on 
the  shoulder  and  sent  him  reeling  against  Monsieur 
Pickard  ; he  in  his  turn  stumbled  against  the  young 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


335 


advocate,  and  in  a trice  the  whole  three  had  disap- 
peared. For  just  behind  them  was  a huge  piled-up 
heap  of  chips  and  saw-dust  and  so  on.  The  unfortu- 
nates were  buried  under  this  heap,  so  that  all  that 
could  be  seen  of  them  were  four  black  legs  and  two 
buff-coloured  ones  ; the  latter  were  the  gala  stockings 
of  Herr  Pickard  Leberfink,  decorator  and  gilder.  It 
couldn’t  possibly  be  helped  ; the  journeymen  and  ap- 
prentices burst  out  into  a ringing  peal  of  laughter, 
notwithstanding  that  Master  Wacht  bade  them  be  still 
and  look  grave. 

Of  them  all  the  canon  cut  the  worst  figure,  since  the 
saw-dust  had  got  into  the  folds  of  his  robe  and  even 
into  the  elegant  curls  which  adorned  his  head.  He  fled 
as  if  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind,  covered  with  shame, 
and  the  young  advocate  hard  after  him.  Monsieur 
Pickard  Leberfink  was  the  only  one  who  preserved  his 
good-humour  and  took  the  thing  in  merry  part,  not- 
withstanding that  it  might  be  regarded  as  certain  he 
would  never  be  able  to  wear  the  buff-coloured  stock- 
ings again,  since  the  saw-dust  had  proved  especially 
injurious  to  them  and  had  quite  destroyed  the  “clock.” 
Thus  the  storm  which  was  to  have  been  adventured 
against  Wacht  was  baffled  by  a ridiculous  incident. 
But  the  Master  did  not  dream  what  terrible  thing  was 
to  happen  to  him  before  the  day  was  over. 

Master  Wacht  had  finished  dinner  and  was  just  going 
downstairs  in  order  to  betake  himself  to  his  workvard, 
when  he  heard  a loud,  rough  voice  shouting  in  front 
of  the  house,  “Hi,  there  ! This  is  where  that  knavish 
old  rascal,  Carpenter  Wacht,  lives,  isn’t  it?”  A voice 
in  the  street  made  answer,  “ There  is  no  knavish  old 
rascal  living  here  ; this  is  the  house  of  our  respected 
fellow-citizen  Herr  Johannes  Wacht,  the  carpenter.” 
In  the  same  moment  the  street-door  was  forced  open 


336 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


with  a violent  bang,  and  a big  strong  fellow  of  wild 
appearance  stood  before  the  master.  His  black  hair 
stuck  up  like  bristles  through  his  ragged  soldier’s  cap, 
and  in  scores  of  places  his  tattered  tunic  was  unable  to 
conceal  his  loathsome  skin,  browned  with  filth  and  ex- 
posure to  rough  weather.  The  fellow  wore  soldier’s 
shoes  on  his  feet,  and  the  blue  weals  on  his  ankles 
showed  the  traces  of  the  chains  he  had  been  fettered 
with.  “ Ho,  ho  ! ” cried  the  fellow,  “ I bet  you  don’t 
know  me.  You  don’t  know  Sebastian  Engelbrecht, 
whom  you’ve  cheated  out  of  his  property — not  you.” 
With  all  the  imposing  dignity  of  his  majestic  form, 
Master  Wacht  took  a step  towards  the  man,  mechani- 
cally advancing  the  cane  he  held  in  his  hand.  Then 
the  wild  fellow  seemed  to  be  almost  thunderstruck  ; he 
recoiled  a few  paces,  and  then  raised  his  doubled  fists 
shouting,  “ Ho,  ho  ! I know  where  my  property  is, 
and  I’ll  go  and  help  myself  to  it,  in  spite  of  you,  you 
old  sinner.”  And  he  ran  off  down  the  Kaulberg  like 
an  arrow  from  a bow,  followed  by  the  crowd. 

Master  Wacht  stood  in  the  passage  like  a statue  for 
several  seconds.  But  when  Nanni  cried  in  alarm, 
“ Good  heavens ! father,  that  was  Sebastian,”  he  went 
into  the  room,  more  reeling  than  walking,  and  sank 
down  exhausted  in  an  arm-chair  ; then,  holding  both 
hands  before  his  face,  he  cried  in  a heart-rending  voice, 
“ By  the  eternal  mercy  of  God,  that  is  Sebastian  Engel- 
brecht.” 

There  arose  a tumult  in  the  street,  the  crowd  poured 
down  the  Kaulberg,  and  voices  in  the  far  distance 
could  be  heard  shouting  “ Murder  ! murder  ! ” A prey 
to  the  most  terrible  apprehensions,  the  Master  ran 
down  to  Jonathan’s  dwelling,  situated  immediately  at 
the  foot  of  the  Kaulberg.  A dense  mass  of  people  were 
pushing  and  crowding  together  in  front  of  him  ; in  their 


MASTER  JOHANNES  IVACHT. 


337 


midst  he  perceived  Sebastian  struggling  like  a wild  an- 
imal against  the  watch,  who  had  just  thrown  him  upon 
the  ground,  where  they  overpowered  him  and  bound 
him  hand  and  foot,  and  led  him  away.  “ O God  ! O 
God  ! Sebastian  has  slain  his  brother,"  lamented  the 
people,  who  came  crowding  out  of  the  house.  Master 
Wacht  forced  his  way  through  and  found  poor  Jona- 
than in  the  hands  of  the  doctors,  who  were  exerting 
themselves  to  call  him  back  to  life.  As  he  had  received 
three  powerful  blows  upon  the  head,  dealt  with  all  the 
strength  of  a strong  man,  the  worst  was  to  be  feared. 

As  generally  happens  under  such  circumstances, 
Nanni  learnt  immediately  the  whole  history  of  the  affair 
from  her  kind-hearted  friends,  and  at  once  rushed  off  to 
her  lover’s  dwelling,  where  she  arrived -just  as  the  young 
lawyer,  thanks  to  the  lavish  use  of  naphtha,  opened  his 
eyes  again,  and  the  doctors  were  talking  about  trepan- 
ning. What  further  took  place  may  be  conceived. 
Nanni  was  inconsolable  ; Rettel,  notwithstanding  her 
betrothal,  was  sunk  in  grief  ; and  Monsieur  Pickard 
Leberfink  exclaimed,  whilst  tears  of  sorrow  ran  down 
his  cheeks,  “ God  be  merciful  to  the  man  upon  whose 
pate  a carpenter’s  fist  falls.”  The  loss  of  young  Herr 
Jonathan  would  be  irreparable.  At  any  rate  the  var- 
nish on  his  coffin  should  be  of  unsurpassed  brightness 
and  blackness  ; and  the  silvering  of  the  skulls  and  other 
nice  ornaments  should  baffle  all  comparison. 

It  appeared  that  Sebastian  had  escaped  out  of  the 
hands  of  a troop  of  Bavarian  soldiers,  whilst  they  were 
conducting  a band  of  vagabonds  through  the  district  of 
Bamberg,  and  he  had  found  his  way  into  the  town  in 
order  to  carryout  a mad  project  which  he  had  for  a 
long  time  been  brooding  over  in  his  mind.  His  career 
was  not  that  of  an  abandoned,  vicious  criminal  ; it  af- 
forded rather  an  example  of  those  supremely  frivolous- 
Vol.  II.— 22 


338 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


minded  men,  who,  despite  the  very  admirable  qualities 
with  which  Nature  has  endowed  them,  give  way  to 
every  temptation  to  evil,  and  finally  sinking  to  the  low- 
est depths  of  vice,  perish  in  shame  and  misery.  In 
Saxony  he  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a petti-fogging 
lawyer,  who  had  made  him  believe  that  Master  Wacht, 
when  sending  him  his  patrimonial  inheritance,  had  paid 
him  very  much  short,  and  kept  back  the  remainder  for 
the  benefit  of  his  brother  Jonathan,  to  whom  he  had 
promised  to  give  his  favourite  daughter  Nanni  to  wife. 
Very  likely  the  old  deceiver  had  concocted  this  storv 
out  of  various  utterances  of  Sebastian  himself.  The 
kindly  reader  already  knows  by  what  violent  means  Se- 
bastian set  to  work  to  secure  his  own  rights.  I mmediately 
after  leaving  Master  Wacht  he  had  burst  into  Jonathan’s 
room,  where  the  latter  happened  to  be  sitting  at  his 
study  table,  ordering  some  accounts  and  counting  the 
piles  of  money  which  lay  heaped  up  before  him.  His 
clerk  sat  in  the  other  corner  of  the  room.  “ Ah  ! you 
villain  ! ” screamed  Sebastian  in  a fury,  “ there  you  are 
sitting  over  your  mammon.  Are  you  counting  wThat  you 
have  robbed  me  of  ? Give  me  here  what  yon  old  ras- 
cal has  stolen  from  me  and  bestowred  upon  you.  You 
poor,  wreak  thing  ! You  greedy  clutching  devil — you  ! ” 
And  when  Sebastian  strode  close  up  to  him,  Jonathan 
instinctively  stretched  out  both  hands  to  ward  him  off, 
crying  aloud,  “Brother!  for  God’s  sake,  brother!” 
But  Sebastian  replied  by  dealing  him  several  stunning 
blows  on  the  head  with  his  double  fist,  so  that  Jonathan 
sank  down  fainting.  Sebastian  hastily  seized  upon  some 
of  the  rolls  of  gold  and  was  making  off  with  them — in 
which  naturally  enough  he  did  not  succeed. 

Fortunately  it  turned  out  that  none  of  Jonathan's 
wounds,  which  outwardly  wore  the  appearance  of  large 
bumps,  had  occasioned  any  serious  concussion  of  the 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


339 


brain,  and  hence  none  of  them  could  be  esteemed  as 
likely  to  prove  dangerous.  After  a lapse  of  two  months, 
when  Sebastian  was  taken  away  to  the  convict  prison, 
where  he  was  to  atone  for  his  attempt  at  murder  by  a 
heavy  punishment,  the  young  lawyer  felt  himself  quite 
well  again. 

This  terrible  occurrence  exerted  such  a shattering 
effect  upon  Master  Wacht  that  a consuming  surly 
peevishness  was  the  consequence  of  it.  This  time  the 
stout  strong  oak  was  shaken  from  its  topmost  branch  to 
its  deepest  root.  Often  when  his  mind  was  thought 
to  be  busy  with  quite  different  matters,  he  was  heard 
to  murmur  in  a low  tone,  “ Sebastian — a fratricide  ! 
That’s  how  you  reward  me  ? ” and  then  he  seemed  to 
come  to  himself  like  one  awakening  out  of  a nasty 
dream.  The  only  thing  that  kept  him  from  breaking 
down  was  the  hardest  and  most  assiduous  labour.  But 
who  can  fathom  the  unsearchable  depths  in  which  the 
secret  links  of  feeling  are  so  strangely  forged  together 
as  they  were  in  Master  Wacht’s  soul  ? His  abhorrence 
of  Sebastian  and  his  wicked  deed  faded  out  of  his  mind, 
whilst  the  picture  of  his  own  life,  ruined  by  Jonathan’s 
love  for  Nanni,  deepened  in  colour  and  vividness  as  the 
days  went  by.  This  frame  of  mind  Master  \yacht  be- 
trayed in  many  short  exclamations — “ So  then  your 
brother  is  condemned  to  hard  labour  and  to  work  in 
chains  ! — That’s  where  he  has  been  brought  by  his  at- 
tempted crime  against  you  — It’s  a fine  thing  for  a 
brother  to  be  the  cause  of  making  his  own  brother  a 
convict — shouldn’t  like  to  be  in  the  first  brother’s  place 
— but  lawyers  think  differently ; they  want  justice,  that 
is,  they  want  to  play  with  a lay  figure  and  dress  it  up 
and  give  it  whatever  name  they  please.” 

Such  like  bitter,  and  even  incomprehensible  re- 
proaches, the  young  advocate  was  obliged  to  hear  from 


340 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


Master  Wacht,  and  to  hear  them  only  too  often.  Any 
attempt  at  rebutting  these  charges  would  have  been 
fruitless.  Accordingly  Jonathan  made  no  reply;  only 
often  when  his  heart  was  almost  distracted  by  the  old 
man’s  fatal  delusion,  which  was  ruining  all  his  happi- 
ness, he  broke  out  in  his  exceeding  great  pain,  “ Father, 
father,  you  are  unjust  towards  me,  exasperatingly  un- 
just.” 

One  day  when  the  family  were  assembled  at  the 
decorator  Leberfink’s,  and  Jonathan  also  was  present, 
Master  Wacht  began  to  tell  how  somebody  had  been 
saying  that  Sebastian  Engelbrecht,  although  appre- 
hended as  a criminal,  could  yet  make  good  by  action 
at  law  his  claim  against  Master  Wacht,  who  had  been 
his  guardian.  Then,  smiling  venomously  and  turning 
to  Jonathan,  he  went  on,  “ That  would  be  a pretty 
case  for  a young  advocate.  I thought  you  might  take 
up  the  suit  ; you  might  play  a part  in  it  yourself  ; 
perhaps  I have  cheated  you  as  well  ? ” This  made  the 
young  lawyer  start  to  his  feet ; his  eyes  flashed,  his 
bosom  heaved  ; he  seemed  all  of  a sudden  to  be  quite 
a different  man  ; stretching  his  hand  towards  Heaven 
he  cried,  “ No,  you  shall  no  longer  be  my  father  ; you 
must  be  insane  to  sacrifice  without  scruple  the  peace 
and  happiness  of  the  most  loving  of  children  to  a 
ridiculous  prejudice.  You  will  never  see  me  again  ; 
I will  go  and  at  once  accept  the  offer  which  the 
American  consul  made  to  me  to-day ; I will  go  to 
America.”  “Yes,”  replied  Wacht  filled  with  rage  and 
anger,  “ ay,  away  out  of  my  eyes,  brother  of  the  fratri- 
cide, who’ve  sold  your  soul  to  Satan.”  Casting  upon 
Nanni,  who  was  half  fainting,  a look  full  of  hopeless 
love  and  anguish  and  despair,  the  young  advocate  hur- 
riedly left  the  garden. 

It  was  remarked  earlier  in  the  course  of  this  story 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


34« 


when  the  young  lawyer  threatened  to  shoot  himself  ä 
la  Werther,1  what  a good  thing  it  was  that  the  indis- 
pensable pistol  was  in  very  many  cases  not  within  reach. 
And  here  it  will  be  just  as  useful  to  remark  that  the 
young  advocate  was  not  able,  to  his  own  good  be  it 
said,  to  embark  there  and  then  on  the  Regnitz  and  sail 
straight  away  to  Philadelphia.  Hence  it  was  that  his 
threat  to  leave  Bamberg  and  his  darling  Nanni  for  ever 
remained  still  unfulfilled,  even  when  at  last,  after  two 
years  more  had  elapsed,  the  wedding-day  of  Herr  Leber- 
fink,  decorator  and  gilder,  was  come.  Leberfink  would 
have  been  inconsolable  at  this  unjust  postponement  of 
his  happiness,  although  the  delay  was  almost  a matter 
of  necessity  after  the  terrible  events  which  had  fallen 
blow  after  blow  in  Wacht’s  house,  had  it  not  afforded 
him  an  opportunity  to  decorate  over  again  in  deep  red 
and  appropriate  gold  the  ornamental  work  in  his  par- 
lour, which  had  before  been  gay  with  nice  light-blue 
and  silver,  for  he  had  picked  up  from  Rettelchen  that 
a red  table,  red  chairs,  and  so  on,  would  be  more  in 
accordance  with  her  taste. 

When  the  happy  decorator  insisted  upon  seeing  the 
young  lawyer  at  his  wedding,  Master  Wacht  had  not 
offered  a moment’s  opposition  ; and  the  young  lawyer 
— he  was  pleased  to  come.  It  may  be  imagined  with 
what  feelings  the  two  young  people  saw  each  other 
again,  for  since  that  terrible  moment  when  Jonathan 
had  left  the  garden  they  had  literally  not  set  eyes  upon 
each  other.  The  assembly  was  large  ; but  not  a single 
person  with  whom  they  were  on  a friendly  footing 
fathomed  their  pain. 

Just  as  they  were  on  the  point  of  setting  out  for 


1 It  need  scarcely  be  said  this  refers  to  the  excessively  sentimental 
hero  of  Goethe’s  Leiden  des  jungen  IVerthers. 


342 


MASTER  JOHANNES  WACHT. 


church  Master  Wacht  received  a thick  letter ; he  had 
read  no  more  than  a few  lines  when  he  became  violently 
agitated  and  rushed  off  out  of  the  room,  not  a little  to 
the  consternation  of  the  rest,  who  at  once  suspected 
some  fresh  misfortune.  Shortly  afterwards  Mastei 
Wacht  called  the  young  advocate  out.  When  they 
were  alone  together  in  the  Master’s  own  room,  the 
latter,  vainly  endeavouring  to  conceal  his  excessive 
agitation,  began,  “ I’ve  got  the  most  extraordinary 
news  of  your  brother  ; here  is  a letter  from  the  gov- 
ernor of  the  prison  relating  fully  all  the  circumstances 
of  what  has  taken  place.  As  you  cannot  know  them 
all,  I must  begin  at  the  beginning  and  tell  you  every- 
thing right  to  the  end  so  as  to  make  credible  to  you 
what  is  incredible ; but  time  presses.”  So  saying, 
Master  Wacht  fixed  a keen  glance  upon  the  advo- 
cate’s face,  so  that  he  blushed  and  cast  down  his  eyes 
in  confusion.  “Yes,  yes,”  went  on  Master  Wacht, 
raising  his  voice,  “you  don’t  know  how  great  a re- 
morse took  possession  of  your  brother  a very  few  hours 
after  he  was  put  in  prison  ; there  is  hardly  anybody 
whose  heart  has  been  more  torn  by  it.  You  don’t  know 
how  his  attempt  at  murder  and  theft  has  prostrated  him. 
You  don’t  know  how  that  in  mad  despair  he  prayed 
Heaven  day  and  night  either  to  kill  him  or  to  save 
him  that  he  might  henceforth  by  the  exercise  of  the 
strictest  virtue  wash  himself  pure  from  bloodguiltiness. 
You  don’t  know  how  that  on  the  occasion  of  building 
a large  wing  to  the  prison,  in  which  the  convicts  were 
employed  as  labourers,  your  brother  so  distinguished 
himself  as  a clever  and  well-instructed  carpenter  that 
he  soon  filled  the  post  of  foreman  of  the  workmen, 
without  anybody’s  noticing  how  it  came  about  so. 
You  don’t  know  how  his  quiet  good  behaviour,  and 
his  modesty,  combined  with  the  decision  of  his  regen- 


MASTER  JOHANNES  IVA  CH T. 

crate  mind,  made  everybody  his  friend.  All  this  you 
do  not  know,  and  so  I am  telling  it  you.  But  to  go 
on.  The  Prince-bishop  has  pardoned  your  brother ; 
he  has  become  a master.  But  how  could  all  this  be 
done  without  a supply  of  money?”  “I  know,”  said 
the  young  advocate  in  a low  voice,  “ I know  that  you, 
my  good  father,  have  sent  money  to  the  prison  author- 
ities every  month,  in  order  that  they  might  keep  my 
brother  separate  from  the  other  prisoners  and  find  him 
better  accommodation  and  better  food.  Later  on  you 

sent  him  materials  for  his  trade” Then  Master 

Wacht  stepped  close  up  to  the  young  advocate,  took 
him  by  both  arms,  and  said  in  a voice  that  vacillated 
in  a way  that  cannot  be  described  between  delight, 
sadness,  and  pain,  “ But  would  that  alone  have  helped 
Sebastian  to  honour  again,  to  freedom,  and  his  civil 
rights,  and  to  property,  however  strongly  his  funda- 
mental virtuous  qualities  had  sprung  up  again  ? An 
unknown  philanthropist,  who  must  take  an  especially 
warm  interest  in  Sebastian’s  fate,  has  deposited  ten 

thousand  ‘large’  thalers  with  the  court,  to” 

Master  Wacht  could  not  speak  any  further  owing  to 
his  violent  emotion  ; he  drew  the  young  advocate  im- 
petuously to  his  heart,  crying,  though  he  could  only 
get  out  his  words  with  difficulty,  “Advocate,  help  me 
to  penetrate  to  the  deep  import  of  law  such  as  lives  in 
your  breast,  and  that  I may  stand  before  the  Eternal 
Bar  of  justice  as  you  will  one  day  stand  before  it. — 
And  yet,”  he  continued  after  a pause  of  some  seconds, 
releasing  the  young  lawyer,  “and  yet,  my  dear  Jona- 
than, if  Sebastian  now  comes  back  as  a good  and  in- 
dustrious citizen  and  reminds  me  of  my  pledged  word, 

and  Nanni” “Then  I will  bear  my  trouble  till  it 

kills  me,”  said  the  young  advocate  ; “ I will  flee  to 
America.”  “Stay  here,”  cried  Master  Wacht  in  an  en- 


MASTER  JOHANNES  IVACHT. 


oiastic  burst  of  joy  and  delight,  “stay  here,  son  of  my 
eart ! Sebastian  is  going  to  marry  a girl  whom  he 
formerly  deceived  and  deserted.  Nanni  is  yours.” 

Once  more  the  Master  threw  his  arms  around  Jona- 
than’s neck,  saying,  “ My  lad,  I feel  like  a schoolboy 
before  you,  and  should  like  to  beg  your  pardon  for  all 
the  blame  I have  put  upon  you,  and  all  the  injustice 
I have  done  you.  But  let  us  say  no  more  ; other 
people  are  waiting  for  us.”  Therewith  Master  Wacht 
took  hold  of  the  young  lawyer  and  pulled  him  along 
into  the  room  where  the  wedding  guests  were  assem- 
bled ; there  he  placed  himself  and  Jonathan*  in  the 
midst  of  the  company,  and  said,  raising  his  voice  and 
speaking  in  a solemn  tone,  “ Before  we  proceed  to 
celebrate  the  sacred  rite  I invite  you  all,  my  honest 
friends,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  you  too,  my  virtuous 
maidens  and  young  men,  six  weeks  hence  to  a similar 
festival  in  my  house  ; for  here  I introduce  to  you  Herr 
Jonathan  Engelbrecht,  the  advocate,  to  wrhom  I here- 
with solemnly  betroth  my  youngest  daughter,  Nanni.” 
The  lovers  sank  into  each  other’s  arms.  A breath  of 
the  profoundest  astonishment  passed  over  the  whole 
assembly ; but  good  old  Andreas,  holding  his  little 
three-cornered  carpenter’s  cap  before  his  breast,  said 
softly,  “ A man’s  heart  is  a wonderful  thing ; but  true, 
honest  faith  overcomes  the  base  and  even  sinful  reso- 
luteness of  a hardened  spirit  ; and  all  things  turn  out 
at  last  for  the  best,  just  as  the  good  God  wishes  them 
to  do.” 


